“I ran. He caught my coat—I outdistanced the werecain, then I stole a car. They almost caught me on the bridge, but the car wrecked and blew up. I barely got out. I have this thing for cars blowing up, I guess. Did I ever tell you about my prom?”
He was still brushing her hair back. He murmured very softly, Selene didn’t hear quite what. Then he cleared his throat. “Come. You need to feed, and to rest.”
“There was a werecain in my apartment. It tore everything up. I had to hide in the closet at the bus station.”
“If I were mortal, you might kill me with worry,” Nikolai said dryly, brushing her shoulders. “Your coat is ruined. Come with me, Selene.”
She nodded. Held her hand up to him. “I don’t think I can stand up,” she admitted. “He’s scary, Nikolai. He’s really scary. I wish you two would kill each other and leave me alone.”
There. It was out. It was said. Her hand quivered in midair.
Nikolai nodded, his black hair slicked back from his face. The warm electric light glowed down, highlighted his hair, his charcoal eyebrows, glimmered in his black eyes. His fingers threaded through hers. “Indeed he is frightening. More terrifying than me, I would suspect, since you have run from him straight to my door.”
“He said he couldn’t see me under your hand.” Shivers racked her. Her palms were sweating. His voice did something strange to her head, her entire body changing into warm oil.
Nikolai let go of her hand, took her shoulders and stood up, which dragged her upright. The Seal weighted down her fingers, bumped against her hip. “I hate this thing,” she continued. “You can have it, I don’t want it.”
He nodded. “You’ll have to feed, Selene. You used more Power than you should have, running from him. I shall teach you better.”
“I can’t do this.” Selene leaned into him. “I don’t want to be a bloodsucking monster.”
“We are all God’s monsters. You only doubt yourself.” He folded her in his arms. Selene’s body unstrung, her arms and legs weighed down with exhaustion. “It will pass.”
“Did Grigori make that thing kill Danny?” She tipped her head back to look up at his face.
“It is certainly possible. The spent shell casings inside Danny’s apartment would lead me to the conclusion that altered beast was simply to find Danny. Danny was shot twice before Grigori worked his will. I did not want you to see his body, Selene. You had enough to bear. You are more fragile than you think.”
Selene blinked. Fragile? I don’t think so, but if you—“Shot? But I didn’t see that in the wards.”
“Did it ever occur to you that the wards would not have cared about bullets? Or that the presence of a werecain and a Nichtvren might have confused the issue? And that you were already shocked by grief and drained of Power—perhaps the wards did not tell you the complete tale?” His voice rumbled in his chest, stroked her skin, slid down her back and ruffled her hair. “Had you simply let me do what I intended, we could have discovered all, with little trouble and effort, and Grigori would have been forced to show his hand.”
“Did you intend on me getting shot, then?” Her cheek was pressed against his chest, so there wasn’t much of a challenge except for her tone. I don’t think anyone else could talk to him like this, she thought, and was going to bite at her lower lip again before she remembered her teeth were much sharper now.
Her legs completely failed her, and she dropped against him, her head lolling. The Seal bumped her hip again. Her fingers wouldn’t quite let go of it.
“I am a fool. Come, dear one.”
He half-carried her through the halls, carpet barely muffling the sound of crisp measured steps. Her boot-toes dragged against the floor, but Selene was past caring. For the moment she was warm, and Nikolai was carrying her, and she felt reasonably safe.
Funny how my idea of safe changes from minute to minute lately, she thought dimly. He’s definitely not safe. He’s as dangerous as Grigori.
“Stay awake, Selene.” He set her down on something soft. A door creaked closed, and there was the sound of an iron bar clanging. “Here, take this off.” His fingers, stripping her bag away, the Seal slipping away from her hand and hitting the floor with a clang. The rags of her coat were torn off, and the sweater and dress shirt were charred and useless. Her back ran with pain.
He hissed in a breath. “You’re burned. And he marked you.” He sounded shocked.
“Always trying to get my clothes off,” she heard herself say. Her voice had a funny breathless tone she didn’t like, dreamy and disconnected. She smelled something very sweet, fermenting. That’s my blood decaying. Weird. How do I know that?
“Drink, Selene,” he whispered, his fingers closing around the back of her neck. “Take what you need.”
The pulse beat against her lips. It wasn’t his wrist—it was too strong, and his skin was too soft.
Her fangs slid out, her jaw distending, and he pushed gently on the back of her head. Drink, Selene. His voice whispered in the center of her head again. For the love of God, drink.
It was like breaking a crust, his skin cool and resistant until her newfound fangs cracked through and the taste of him flooded her mouth. Heat poured down her throat. Selene’s eyelids fluttered, shutterclicks of light burning through her eyes. His hair brushed her face. Her entire body pitched forward, melding against his, the sliding perfect texture of his skin now rubbing over hers. His pulse pounded, forcing hers to follow, a tandem beat that strained at her ears and wrists and throat.
His pulse continued for an eternity, blood murmuring in her ears, and Selene’s entire body flushed with heat.
And then she fell.
***
Rough wood against cheek, screaming of the crowd, chanting deep voices. “Recant! Recant! Recant!” Smell, human smell of offal and sweat and garlic and the cold.
The first lash. For a moment the impact didn’t hurt, it was so deep and huge, but then the skin tore and the agony ripped flesh from bone. Screams of a wounded animal—a familiar voice. Knees against stone, slipping greasily in ice and the offal the crowd hurled at the heretic.
The sun had fled behind a bank of cloud, premature winter darkness falling. Uneasiness slid through the chanting voices. It was dangerous to be out after dark. Screams bounced off the ice-frosted flags, knees aching, back on fire, hoarse sobbing, throat cut with screaming.
“Recant! Recant!” The chanting of the crowd frayed, dissolved into an animal roar. The whip cracked again. And again.
“Enough!” The voice roared through the crowd.
But the animals bayed. They wanted blood, and death, and more blood. There was not enough red in the world to fill their thirst.
The whip descended one last time. Blood, dripping onto the flags. A red haze descending.
Selene slammed back into her body. Her fangs slid free of Nikolai’s throat. He hadn’t told her to stop, she was simply gorged with blood, a queer bloated feeling under her ribs as her body tried to cope with the sudden influx.
Nikolai fell back onto the bed, landed against the pillows. Her skin crackled, shedding burned tissue, fresh healthy skin suddenly shrinking from the chill.
Selene stood at the edge of the bed, a sharp edge digging into her shins. Nikolai was paper-white, wheezing. He was old, and powerful, but even a Master could die of blood loss. She’d taken too much.
Nikolai’s eyes were shut, sharp black lashes in an arc against his too-white cheek. He drew in a shallow gasp. The horrible choked sound rattled inside Selene’s head, bounced off the walls.
Call for one of his thralls. She looked at the heavy wooden door. It was barred inside and out, probably. She could see the heavy iron bar, set in brackets driven deep into the dark wood paneling. Oh, no.
“Nikolai!” Before she knew it she was on the bed, her knees on either side of his hips. His back arched, his fangs distended, his skin was almost translucent. The pulse beat under the thin skin at his temples, swelling and retreating strongly.
She had her
wrist halfway to her mouth before she realized what she was doing, her teeth set just against the skin. I bet I could break the door down or figure it out, she thought blankly, looking down at his face. He was choking on the still air. He would probably survive. Then he and Grigori could fight it out and I can get away.
Maybe.
“If anyone kills you,” she repeated softly, “it’s going to be me.” Her throat closed against the words, her pulse suddenly racing, rapid and thready, something uncomfortably like bile pressing against the back of her throat. Nichtvren don’t throw up, she heard herself saying in a lecture hall years ago, heard the shocked titters of the students. There is no gag reflex, since they have no need to void; there is no such thing as poisoning a Nichtvren. They can rupture their stomachs, though, with gorging. She shook the memory away. She’d probably never teach again.
What are you doing? her own voice shrilled inside her head. You can’t—you won’t!
He’ll be crippled if he goes for too long without feeding on something, she told the shocked little voice. He gave me too much.
Why would he do something like that? Probably to trap her again. He never did anything without a reason, did he. It was the only thing he understood, the planning and the reasons.
So maybe she should do something just for the hell of it. Like saving his life.
Her teeth scraped over the throbbing in her own wrist. Nikolai’s blood wasn’t silty and thick like Grigori’s. Instead, it was like brandy, a smooth fire that exploded in her stomach and tingled against her skin. And it fed her even deeper, flushing her body with even more Power. Most fledgelings didn’t get to drink more than once from their Master, she’d fed from two Masters now. And Jesu alone knew how much of Nikolai’s blood she’d taken down when she’d been shot in the back.
You’d better start thinking about why he would do these things, Selene. And why you’re doing what you’re doing.
The dim lighting of Nikolai’s sanctum was now perfect for her night-hunting vision. The greenish glow that was almost-total darkness retreated under the faint light from the lamp with the red lace shade, and the red velvet was soothing. The blank dark walls held none of the painful brightness of the human world.
Inside this cocoon, then, she looked down at the pale dish of Nikolai’s face. He drew in a long shallow rattling breath, his body tensing under hers.
Selene drove her own teeth into her wrist. A bright spike of pain made her eyes roll up.
What are you doing? You hate him! Her own voice scraped against the inside of her mind. He Turned you into a sucktooth! Made you a murderer! And he. . . he. . .
He protected me. From my own Talent, and from Grigori. So she owed him. And she needed him to settle things with Grigori so she could escape—for good this time.
Her fangs retracted. Blood dripped down her arm, and she shoved her wrist against Nikolai’s mouth. “Come on,” she whispered. “Come on.”
He fastened on the wound. The feel of his mouth on her skin, drawing from her, made her gasp, fire pulling against her veins.
I didn’t know, she thought, as her head dipped forward. Her body settled against his, she felt the definite start of something hard pressing against the juncture of her legs. Warmth flooded up, and she felt wetness trickle down, threading along and soaking into denim. Sweat sprang up along her forehead, under her arms. Selene moaned.
He drew in another long mouthful and she arched her back. This was familiar—the swimming weakness, fear and a slight edge of pain making her legs faraway and dim, her wet jeans and her singed bra too confining, rasping against her skin.
He took another endless pull against her wrist, swallowing four times. His eyes closed, his face losing some of its translucence. Selene cried out, the sensation exploding through her body, her head now flung back. If he does that again I’ll die. But it was an eager disconnected thought. She didn’t care. Dying of this kind of sensory overload would almost make it worthwhile.
Nikolai pushed her aside, one hand clamped around her wrist, Selene’s entire body unstrung and languid, falling through space. Her nerve endings sparked like Roman candles, and she wondered vaguely if her hand would glow in the dim light if she held it up enough to see. He knelt on the bed, holding the wound on her wrist closed, his other hand pushing her shoulder. She fell against the velvet, cloth rasping at her skin.
“Enough,” Nikolai said, harshly. “Stay here. I’ll return.”
“No.” It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself, Selene caught at fingers on her wrist with her free hand, her own fingers clamping home with more force than she thought possible. “Nikolai.”
He went still, looking down at her. His face was gaunt—he gave me too much, she thought, incoherent, her mouth falling open as she looked up at him. I could have let him die here.
She pulled at his hand. More. She wanted more.
He still didn’t move. He might have been a statue, unblinking, unbreathing. His cheeks were hollow, and there were dark bruised circles under his eyes. How much did I drink? Selene stared at him. His eyes scorched the darkness around his face, a pulsing haze of cold Power. His hand fell away from her shoulder.
Selene swallowed. The tang of his blood still stained the inside of her mouth. It took an effort of will to let go of his wrist, one finger at a time. “Where are you going?” she asked, barely believing that she would even care. A shudder raced through her entire body. Aftershocks.
That was one hell of a feeding. We know exactly what that is, too. It’s the curse again.
He moved then, brushing strands of sweat-damp hair back from her forehead. Well what do you know? The cheerful, lunatic side of Selene said in a bright jolly voice. Nichtvren do sweat. All it takes is a little sex, and they sweat buckets. Get it, buckets? As in buckets of blood? Ha ha?
“I have thralls, and bloodpacks. Time to use them, verscht za? I will return to let you feed again. Until then, I will leave the door to my sanctum closed, for your safety. You have escaped Grigori, dear one, and he will not take that kindly.” Nikolai’s black eyes with their layer of predatory shine met hers. “He will, in fact, be furious. If the nest is attacked and broken, you will find a safe passage out. It is hidden behind the bed, and will respond only to the medallion.” He looked as if he would say more, shook his head, smoothing back another charred strand of her hair. “I would ask that you stay, Selene. Please.”
Miracles do happen. Now that it’s too late to do any good, he starts asking instead of telling me. A hazy amazement settled over her. She nodded, curling into the velvet coverlet. Her cheek slid against the velvet. She nodded again, to feel that slight touch against her quivering skin. “I’m sorry,” she managed. “I took too much.”
“I allowed it, did I not?” He slid away from her to come to his feet, soundless and lithe as a giant cat, on the other side of the bed. “Rest, Selene. You are still new to this. No other fledgling has escaped Grigori’s pursuit in over six centuries.”
“Great. Bully for me,” Selene muttered, suddenly acutely aware that she was wearing a torn, stained bra and a pair of ragged jeans that were slick and damp, wadded between her legs. “How do you know?”
“Because I was the only one who ever did, before.”
Selene swallowed, curling into a ball. Her body slumped gratefully into the softness of the bed. “Maybe he let me escape.” But Grigori’s roar, and the marks of his claws on her back, told her otherwise.
“That,” Nikolai replied, “is why I will bar the door. We cannot trust each other too much, dorogaya moya.”
With that, he left. Selene lay in the half-dark, thinking it over. “No,” she finally said to the silence of his absence. “I guess we can’t.”
Fourteen
She raided his closet again, finding a black button-down linen shirt and another pair of sweatpants. Ducking into the bathroom, she eyed the toilet for a moment before turning the shower on. Three days ago the porcelain god would have been the first thing on my mind. Sh
e shivered, gooseflesh spilling down her back and up her arms. He Turned me, and I’m a sucktooth now. And I just. . .what the fuck did I just do?
Testing the water gingerly with one hand, she finally stepped into the shower, sighing with relief. The medallion bounced against her chest, skin-warm. The remainder of Nikolai’s blood tingled in her fingers and toes, her heart still pounding too hard. Her stomach bulged out fractionally just under where her ribs met her breastbone.
Jesu, I’m bloated with blood. She rested her forehead against the slick cold tiles. Oh, God. Nichtvren can’t throw up. Was she sweating? The warm water beat against her shoulder, ran down her hip. Chills slid down her skin.
The feeling—was it a memory?—of a rough wooden post and the crack of a whip rose again. Selene shut her eyes. Was that where the scars had come from? Was she going to drown in Nikolai’s memories now?
A thin squealing sound rasped against her ears under the roar of the water.
Shut up, Danny’s voice barked in the middle of her skull again. He sounded, of all things, alarmed. Get out of the fucking shower. Stop moaning. Keep it together, Lena. Come on.
She nodded, her forehead squeaking against the tiles. A swelling, hitching laugh bounced out of her, echoed against the tiles, was followed by the collapse of a slow moan.
Keep it together, Lena. Come on. Get out of the shower. Now Danny’s voice was cajoling, wheedling. Just like when they were kids and he was trying to cheer her up, or talk her into taking part in some game or another—
“Shut up,” Selene heard herself say, over the rush of water. She reached out blindly and turned the shower off. Slowing water plinked down onto the glossy dark-blue tiles. “If I’m going to live forever, do I want you whining at me all the time?”
You’re the one who’s talking to a ghost, he came back smartly. It was just the sort of thing Danny would say. The loneliness rose to choke her. Get dressed, Selene. Come on.
“Okay,” she whispered. Her lips slid over her teeth. “Goddamn you getting yourself killed.”
They were after you, Lena. I was only an afterthought. Bait. Stupid bait, at that.
Selene Page 20
