by Kitty Thomas
She tried to pull away, but he held her with jaw and hands. She closed her eyes and tried not to think, tried to go blank and make it stop happening. She tried for those minutes to stop existing altogether.
The moment his fangs were out of her throat, she raced down the hall to the bathroom. Dropping to her knees in front of the toilet, she emptied the contents of her stomach. When she had nothing left to throw up, she laid her cheek against the cool tile and wept.
“Nicolette.”
“Go away. Please, just go.”
He disappeared down the hallway and returned a few minutes later. Why couldn’t the bastard leave? He sat on the tile beside her and pulled her into his arms.
“Here, I got you some water from the kitchen.”
He stroked her hair as she drank and tried to stop her mind from racing. The pain in his eyes made everything worse. Why did it have to be her? Why couldn’t it have been someone else?
“You didn’t react like this before. Is it hurting more? I don’t want you to suffer, poppet. I wanted to stop killing, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
She set the glass on the tile and laid her head against his chest. After several minutes she collected herself and pulled away. He would have to know the truth some time.
“It didn’t hurt. It was so much worse than that.”
His head tilted to the side like a puppy trying to work out a riddle.
She wanted the floor to open up. She wanted death to be possible. “I wanted you,” she whispered. “It didn’t hurt. It felt… good. It felt like making love. It felt like cheating on Dominic.”
“Do you want to know what I think?”
She really didn’t. She wanted him to vanish, to die, to somehow undo the link between them so someday she could die. Her soul had diverged eternally from its mate. The rift between her and Dominic might not be large yet, but they were moving down different trajectories, with the end result being eternal separation. And the weight of it was only now beginning to settle upon her shoulders.
If she’d been strong and rejected the devil’s offer, she could have died, and had some hope of her soul reuniting with her husband’s in the hereafter. But being kept in a cage, nearly starving with no light and nothing but scared, doomed people for company for so long had made the short-term gain feel like a good deal. Like a consolation prize. Like she was winning.
The long absence had made it feel as if she could go on without Dominic at some mythical future point that she wouldn’t have to think about for a while—the way people skirted around thoughts of the ramifications of their own deaths. Of course it would happen, far off in some distant future that hardly felt real. If she could only have her husband back loving her for now. If they could live out their lives together like normal people. It would all be fine.
“I think it would be better if you let him go now. We could leave the country for a while. I have a home in Italy, nicer than the one here, in fact. You could be happy there. I have a winery. You enjoy wine.”
Nicole went cold and tense like a statue frozen in ice. The panic threatened to close her throat, but she forced words out in time. “No! You promised. Please, August, you said I could have him.”
“But you can’t handle it. It’ll destroy you to be with me while you’re with him. You’ll feel torn between us. You’ll feel guilty, like it’s your fault for not suffering at my hands.” He rocked her in his arms, and she found herself lost in the soothing feel of it—if she could separate the comforting gesture from the man who’d caused it to be necessary.
“I needed to stop killing. I didn’t want this. I wanted to show you that I wasn’t a monster. I wish I’d gotten to you before him. Things would have gone differently.”
Nicole shut her eyes and tried to imagine never knowing Dominic. Of August being able to project smooth charm and confidence when they’d met instead of crazed desperation. Of his checkered past being so vague and shadowy to almost be sexy. Would she have wanted him? Yes. Would she have loved him? Maybe. But right now she felt like a cheating whore who’d somehow betrayed the man she loved, the man who’d made her happy and given her everything for a decade. He was the innocent in this.
August was right, she was selfish trying to keep her husband, but she couldn’t succumb to the vampire. If she went away with him and left everyone else behind, what if she developed a feeling beyond arousal? After the way he’d shattered her life, he couldn’t be the victor.
He would have done every heinous thing he could invent to wear her down and gain her consent. Despite her resolve to die… deep down she knew he would have won anyway. Surely centuries of killing gave one insight into creative ways of keeping people alive when necessary.
She gathered the energy she had and released it in a string of words so bitter she was sure they could have burned holes through his soul. “It’s not your decision to make. If you take me from him now, I will hate you forever.”
He sighed. “I wish I thought you were being dramatic. But I believe you believe that.”
***
When Nicolette had gotten hold of herself, August left her for the night. Vampiric thrall was a hideous thing. Controlling people like puppets on strings, making them obey out of amusement or necessity had always disturbed him. And yet, if he could, he would grip Nicolette’s mind with the force of a thousand of his kind and force her to forget her husband, her family, her friends. Forget they’d ever existed. He’d create a world where only he mattered to her.
He’d uproot her without mercy and replant her across the ocean while those she’d known and loved died out. And he wouldn’t feel an ounce of remorse for it.
August sat outside Dominic’s law firm with the car idling. How long would it take her to forgive him for killing her husband? He pressed his fingers against his temples as if he could push the thoughts out and away. He’d been kidding himself. Centuries of killing did something very wrong to one’s brain.
Whoever he’d been before the curse, he wasn’t that man now. Only the lifting of the fog over his life, the end to the necessary killing, had made it clear—no matter what he wanted her to think. He’d become ruthless, and despite the torment of killing, hadn’t his suffering already diminished over the centuries? The horror had become the backdrop against which he lived his life. The familiar thing. And sometimes the familiar thing could be coped with, given enough experience.
There had been a time when he’d suffered and sobbed for hours until he’d cried himself to sleep over the most recent death, only to wake and have to repeat the process again. Before Nicolette, his breakdowns had lasted far shorter periods. A few broken sobs. Extreme guilt and pain for an hour or two each night afterward, then a lower level depression and resignation that made him so tired he wanted to sleep for the rest of his existence. If he could manage to stay asleep that long.
In six hundred more years would he have successfully shut off his empathy so he could be a true predator not only in deed but in thought? His own brand of freedom from the curse? There was no guarantee. Nicolette had been a guarantee too hard to pass up.
Dominic’s car was the only other car in the lot. He must want a gold feather in his cap for going that extra mile. It was the mile he’d die on.
August slammed the door of the Bugatti. His vision was hazed by a red mist only he could see. The killing urge. Only this time, it wasn’t for hunger.
The gilded book in his library popped into his mind, the pages fluttering open to the legend of the blood mate, the words he’d read a thousand times, the fine print. The warning. What did freedom mean? For centuries, he’d operated outside the boundaries of free will, doing what he was forced to do and suffering for each life he took. And now? He could kill a man for purely personal reasons, without the torment the curse had provided him with. Now he could do it and like it.
He’d been sure that if the curse were broken, he would go back to being the man he’d been before it. He hadn’t been a killer when he was turned, so surely those ru
les—the fine print—didn’t apply to him. The book had been created for the first vampires. Not for him. He was special. He was different. He was holy.
And he was about to drain the life from the man standing in the way of what he wanted. With the curse behind him, all he wanted was her. Three times he’d drunk her blood, and each time he grew more possessive. What was one more murder in all the thousands upon thousands he’d been forced to commit? What was one more life if it could simplify everything?
The front door was locked, but locks posed no challenge. August ripped it off its hinges. Nothing would stand between him and his goal. Fluorescent lights hissed and blinked as he stomped down the hallway, gaining speed the closer he got to the scent of his prey.
When he opened the door, Dominic looked up.
“Can I help you?”
“You can die. That would help a lot.”
The red haze that blurred August’s vision made Dominic pink, like meat. Should he drink or snap his neck? He’d never been faced with that decision. Choosing to kill was a novel concept.
Before Dominic could react, August was on him, his fangs in his throat, ripping at the flesh. The first drop of blood had barely touched his tongue when Nicolette’s tear-streaked face leapt into his mind. His phantom mate was on her knees, begging him, begging for her husband’s life, promising to give him anything he wanted.
Dominic struggled in his arms and August let go. The vampire ripped into his own wrist and gave the man some of his blood to undo the damage he’d created. Dominic sputtered and choked on it, trying to get away, trying not to swallow, but it was a futile fight.
When August had forced enough blood down the man’s throat, he gripped his shoulders and stared hard into his eyes. “None of this happened. Forget me.”
He cursed and punched a hole in the wall on his way out. The damage would be a mystery Nicolette’s husband would never unravel.
***
Nicole crammed a few more dresses and an extra pair of jeans into the open suitcase. She couldn’t bear leaving Dominic forever. She wasn’t strong enough for that, and she feared what August would do when he found her gone. But she needed the illusion that she could somehow be free in the world again, just for a little bit.
She reread her quickly-scrawled words:
Dominic,
I’m sorry to leave you a note like this, but my Aunt Norah broke her leg. She needs help with the children for a few days while she makes other arrangements. I didn’t want to disturb you at the office. I’ll call as soon as I can.
Love Always,
Nicole
The beauty of the explanation was that it was easily believable. Norah hadn’t spoken to the rest of the family in years. Nicole found herself grateful for the family strife that would give her a way out for a while.
She sat on the suitcase to force it closed and drove the locks home. She wanted nothing more than to explain things to Dominic, beg him to run away with her, but he would never believe her story.
On her way out of town, she stopped by the flower shop and gave them the injured-aunt excuse. They couldn’t guarantee her job would be there when she returned, and she didn’t expect it to be.
She just needed space, a few days to try to cope with the reality of her life now.
Chapter Eight
August had driven for five days, stopping only to sleep on the side of the road. The death and decay rose up around him, his face and body having turned gruesome from lack of feeding. Each time he caught her trail, he lost it again. And the weaker he got, the harder it was to pick up.
He needed to feed. He needed to kill someone. After the red haze that had come over him with Dominic—the momentary belief that he could kill without remorse—August was back to a sense of dread over the prospect. What was the point of taking Nicolette—of destroying her life—if he would go back to killing? If he allowed himself to succumb to his urges, every shred of who he’d once been would be lost forever, and Nicolette’s sacrifice would become meaningless.
Either way, she’d be alone out there. When her husband and family and friends were gone, she’d be alone, like him. He needed her. She needed him. She just didn’t know it yet. He wouldn’t leave her as a lone freak to face the aging world unchanged.
Except for his foot on the gas, he held his body absolutely still. He sensed her nearby. She’d stopped moving. He sped forward, as if she were pulling him to her on an invisible leash. He wondered if she would get a sudden sense of dread—of fear—if she’d know he was coming for her in time to run.
He smiled when he saw the silver Lexus parked next to the last room of a run-down motel. Motels were public places. No invitation needed.
August didn’t bother knocking or issuing threats; he forced the door open and stepped inside. She sprawled on one of the double beds, watching a show on television. Her eyes rose to his, wide and horrified when he slammed the door. She scrambled off the bed to get to the bathroom, but he grabbed her before she reached it.
“Were you planning to fly out of the country?” She’d picked a motel next to an airport. If she’d flown far enough away, he might not have found her, at least not without killing a few people first. But as long as Dominic was alive, she wouldn’t leave the country without him. August was glad he’d resisted the urge to kill the attorney.
“I… um…”
“Close your eyes.”
“What?”
Those obviously weren’t the words she’d expected from him after five days of hunting her.
“Close your eyes.” He shouldn’t feel bad about her having to endure a bite from an ugly, rotting vampire. It was her fault he’d gotten to this state. Her running.
“Are you going to hurt me?”
“Why would I hurt you?”
“I ran.”
“And it was pointless. Wasn’t it? What did you feel you would accomplish? Is this how you wish to go on for the rest of eternity with me? Run and get caught by a grotesque monster every few days? Wouldn’t you prefer I fed from you in a more attractive form?”
“No.”
There it was. That ridiculous guilt of hers. The martyr complex.
“You’ll have to drink my blood tonight.”
She tried to struggle free of his grasp. “What? No! You said… ”
“Unless you want to suffer. The amount of blood I’ll have to take from you at this stage, you’ll heal, but it will be painful without my help, even with the link between us. I told you I wouldn’t allow you to suffer unnecessarily. I gave my word.”
He’d also promised Dominic would die of natural causes and she could stay with her husband until then. And yet, he’d almost broken that vow.
August didn’t have to be able to read her mind to know she had a death wish already. He’d seen a reflection of his own eyes in hers, the slump of shoulders, the resignation, the burning need to escape it all. She was his mirror.
“Nicolette, we have to be together. We’ll both go mad otherwise. You may not think you need me now, but you will. And I need you. You have no idea how much.”
He was surprised when she let him pull her closer, her eyes squeezed shut as he’d requested. He struck at her throat, feeding as quickly as possible. She cringed against him, and he wasn’t sure if it was his current ugliness and decay or if the bond between them still caused the bite to feel like pleasure.
Savoring her blood was something for another time. He drained her like he was draining a body dry. He barely tasted her. He just needed to repair. The smell that had risen off his flesh for the past two days faded to nothing. His face lost its shrunken form and ashen pallor. His skin healed, papering over the ugly truth of what he could so quickly become without human blood. He became perfect again.
He stopped when he heard the moan of pain escape her lips. Despite her earlier protests, she didn’t fight when he brought his bleeding wrist to her mouth.
“Drink. You’ll feel better. I promise.”
Her mouth latched around th
e wound and she drank for several minutes, something deep and primal between them grabbing hold of her. When she finished, it was she who initiated the kiss, her mouth pressing against his in fevered desperation.
August’s eyes widened. It was just the bond growing stronger, the mutual feeding causing her desire to spiral out of her control. It wasn’t real. Just a mirage. She’d feel angst about it later. She’d blame him for “taking advantage,” even though she was the one who was now stripping her clothes off at an impressive speed and tugging on his pants to get them down.
He held her wrists tight, forcing her eyes to meet his.
“Owww. August, you’re hurting me.”
“Good.” The pain was the only real thing between them.
Her shirt gaped open to reveal the tops of flushed breasts. He ripped it the rest of the way off her body and took her bra as well. “Pants, off!” he growled, too impatient to deal with the logistics of her clothing and too busy with his own. He had fed plenty, he was fine again, but he wanted to taste her, he wanted to drink more of her.
August pushed her against the faux wood-paneled wall and sank his fangs again into her throat. She writhed against him until he angled his hips and was inside her, then she went still and started to cry.
He cradled her. “Shhhh, poppet. It was always going to happen. You’re fighting nature and destiny and blood. You can’t fight this. You can’t fight me. You don’t want to.”
Minutes passed with their bodies locked together like that, still, like a sculpture of embracing lovers frozen in time.
Finally, Nicolette’s hips began to move and rock against him in a belated consent to her own destruction.
“Yes, just like that,” he whispered. He went back to feeding as she fucked herself on him. When he’d had his fill of her blood, he sealed the wound and then moved her to the bed to finish what she’d started. He drove in and out of her until they both came, and then his fangs were in her throat again, taking just a little more. Always just a little more.
