by S. E. Lund
He smiles, but it's one of tolerance rather than agreement, like I'm a child that he's indulging.
"I've lived with an Ancient on a daily basis, Eve. I know what they are."
"Soren," I say. "He did this on purpose to get to you, didn't he?"
He nods.
"Yes," he says, his voice quiet, a note of distaste in it. "He's playing us all."
"Go to someone else."
"Eve… He's the only one I have any relationship with. I hate to do it. He's a true monster. But if I don't go to him, he'd destroy me if he found out I went to another."
"Go to someone stronger than him."
He just shakes his head as if I can't understand.
"Even if there was someone more powerful, there's no reason why they'd be willing to go to war with Soren just to resurrect Julien. This is a game of power. He won't just make Julien pay for this. He'll make me pay as well and that's what worries me and why I want you in protective custody."
"Protective custody?" I say and frown. "I don't like the sound of that."
"You don't like the sound of it, but that's the reality, Eve. Get used to it," he says and his voice is harsh. "Things will never be the same again."
I just look at him and the anger in his voice and the darkness in his eyes make me fear for myself.
"They aren't just old vampires, Eve. They're not fallen humans as you think of vampires. They're something entirely different."
I trace his bottom lip with my finger. He's so serious, so afraid of this thing he has to do.
"I can't come with you?"
"God, no," he says and shakes his head vigorously. "I'll never let you get within a hundred miles of him again."
"I don't like the sounds of that."
"You shouldn't. Let me warn you now," he says, and reaches out to pull me closer, running his fingers through my hair. "If you ever ever see him again, run the other way. Don't stop and don't look back. I mean it. He'll have you as his blood slave in a second."
"Why?"
"Because you're an Adept, Eve. You can connect. It's what they crave. It's what we all crave. You know how good it is."
I do know how good it is. "Almost too good."
He nods. "If you were my blood slave, it would be even better. With an Adept, we wouldn't have to even touch."
That sends a wave of something through me. "You said that before. You mean real telepathy? Like spooky action at a distance?"
He nods. "Exactly."
I turn over on my back and lie there, staring at the ceiling, the idea of real telepathy – reading Michel's mind at a distance like some kind of connection at the quantum level. It's disquieting and attractive at the same time. Then a thought comes to me – this thing between he and I – it's been going towards that ever since that night at the university when he held my hand too long.
"Tell me about that night I first met you."
"You were there."
"No," I say and turn over on my side so that I face him. I rest on my elbow and look straight at him. "Tell me what you were thinking." I reach out and touch him for good measure, to see if I can read him. "The truth."
He sighs as if he's been expecting this from me and pulls his hand away.
"Don't pull your hand away." I reach out to take his hand back but he won't let me.
"Trust, Eve," he says, his voice firm. "Do you trust me to tell you what you need to know?"
I just stare at him. I'm not sure I do. He did take those manuscript pages out because he didn't want me to read them. But I said all in, and so I decide to say I trust him even if I don't.
I nod, but don't say anything.
"When I read the message you posted in the forum," he says. "I thought that maybe this was the manuscript. When you called me, and told me the year it was first written – 1224 and that it was by a writer from Carcassonne, I knew it was the manuscript, but I wasn't sure if you were our lost Adept, despite the name. Stranger coincidences have happened to me over the years. When I touched you, I was overwhelmed by your response to me. You suspected I was a vampire and were debating whether to run. Only someone inside, from an Adept family or associated with the Council would suspect that I was a vampire. Then I read you and knew it was you."
He just looks at me, waiting for my questions.
"So," I say, my cheeks heating, upset at what he's saying for some reason. "When you realized who I was, what did you think? Did you think right away that you wanted me as your blood slave?"
He closes his eyes.
"Yes," he says. "That was my first instinct as it would be any vampire who knows what you are. It's what Julien would want as well. But I rejected that right away and that's why I tried to make you forget our meeting and the manuscript. I don't want it, Eve, at least not here," he says and taps his head. "But here?" He points to his heart. "I can't lie to you. It would be heaven."
"Heaven?" I say, incredulous. "To have me addicted to your blood so that I had to drink it or become sick?"
"I live every day addicted to blood." He glances away. "The heart wants what it wants."
"I know," I say, and a sense of sadness fills me. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But I have this fear that that's exactly where you and I are going. Can you deny it?"
"All I can do is try to ensure it doesn't happen."
"There is no try," I say, repeating what he said earlier. "Promise me you just won't do it. I'd rather die."
"I would have preferred death, Eve. We don't always get to choose. Sometimes God chooses for us."
I just turn over onto my back and shake my head.
"That's awfully arrogant of you," I say. "Thinking that if a God did exist, he'd be spending all his time ordering the details of your life."
He runs his fingers along my arm.
"God's omnipotent and can do more than one thing at a time, Eve…"
I turn my head and look at him and he's serious. Hell. I pull away so he isn't touching me – so I can think my own thoughts without him knowing it.
How can an intelligent man with so much experience be so trapped by this religious dogma? Of course, he's not just a man. He's a priest. In his heart, if not in reality.
And that really sums it all up. He's a former priest, still a priest at heart, who does penance for his more human nature. He'll fuck me and love it but feel intense guilt about it. He'll fuck me and love it but he'll beg for forgiveness afterwards.
He'll make me his blood slave, and hate himself for it, kneel before an image of the Virgin until his knees bleed in penance. But he'll love having me entirely his own, his possession, psychically tied to him by blood. I clench my fists, angry and sad at the truth of it.
He leans over and kisses my shoulder, holding his mouth there.
"Eve?" he says, and moves closer, taking my face in his hands. I dig my nails into my palms harder to try to keep tears at bay. "Eve," he says, a touch of panic in his voice. "I can't read you."
I shake my head, but I'm glad he isn't able to read me, because I'm very upset at these thoughts going through my head.
"You're blocking me," he says, and it's more an accusation than a statement of fact.
"If I am, I don't know how."
He pulls me closer. I don't feel him in my mind. I just feel this pain and it brings tears to my eyes rather than stopping them.
He looks down and sees my fists and takes one hand, opens it. I've been digging my nails into my palms so hard, the corner of one nail has broken the skin.
"You're bleeding."
He looks in my eyes. Then he leans down and licks my palm, licks the blood and the touch of his tongue on the wound takes the pain away. Then he comes flooding in, all concern and panic and fear and I know that I've found one of my blocks.
"Oh, God no," he says, closing his eyes. "Not pain."
That confirms it. I can use pain to block him from reading my mind just as I've used pain to block things from entering my mind for so many years.
"Don't do this. Don't bloc
k me, Eve. Don't…"
"You said I'd find my blocks eventually."
"But not so soon. Not until we're ready. Until I'm ready." He hangs his head, running his hands through his hair. When he looks up at me again, his eyes are filled with pain. "I need access to you, Eve. Can't you understand that? I need to know how you are, to know when you're ready and when you're not."
"Ready for what? Sex?" I say, angered. "There are other ways to tell that…"
"No," he says, grimacing. "Not sex. To be my Adept."
"I think you want access to me. Maybe you'll have to trust me to tell you how I am."
"You won't. I already know that. You lie all the time, Eve. You lie to yourself. You lie to me. If you block me, I can only guess what you're really feeling and thinking."
His words hurt me. I do lie a lot. I lie to myself, just like he says. I have to in order to get through my day.
"You said something about genies and bottles that applies here."
"And you said all in, Eve. This isn't all in. It's only partial if you block me."
I just look at him, and I do feel sorry for his anguish, but what can I say?
"I can't say I won't block you at times. It would be a lie and I don't want to lie to you. I'll try to only block things you don't need to know, like when I have menstrual cramps or something embarrassing, like if the broccoli didn't agree with me and I have gas. You don't need to know those kinds of things."
I smile, flashing him some dimple in the hopes it brings him out of this darkness, but I'm lying even now because I know I'll block him when I don't want him to know how I am. My smile doesn't lighten his mood. He wants free access, he wants to reach out any time and read me, know my emotions and thoughts. Now he won't be able to and it scares him. He doesn't smile.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
"We have to distrust each other. It is our only defense against betrayal."
Tennessee Williams
"It wasn't my fault," I say. "I wasn't trying to block you. I was just upset and it happened without me trying. Don't be mad at me."
"I'm not mad at you, Eve," he says softly and moves closer to me. He leans down and nuzzles my neck. "I'm afraid for you."
"What are you so afraid of?" I squeeze his hand.
"That you won't obey me, that you'll make some foolish and reckless and brave plan and block me from knowing it, that you'll get yourself into trouble, and that you'll get killed," he says with an exaggerated shrug, his voice emotional. "That's all. Nothing really."
"I'm not going to plot and plan. I don't know enough, Michel, to plot and plan."
"Ah, but it's precisely those who don't know how to plot and plan who try it and get into trouble."
"I promise I'll follow your rules to the best of my ability." I pull him down and kiss him and my kiss makes us both all squishy feeling inside.
"Get dressed," he says. "I'll show you the house."
I do, putting on my clothes once more, and Michel takes my hand, leading me through the house to show me every room, stopping first in the library where we gave him the news about Julien.
"That's such a beautiful old Steinway," I say and go to it, touching the keys. "I never asked you but do you play?"
"Yes."
"Play something for me." I take his hand and lead him there.
"You haven't played for me yet, and I asked first," he says, pointing a finger at me.
I smile and sit on the bench. "Any request?" While I play a scale, he sits beside me.
"Play the piece that breaks your heart."
I hesitate at the strange request. The piece that breaks my heart?
"That would have to be Ballade No.1 by Chopin," I say. "I don't play it perfectly. I was learning it when my mother died. It brings back painful memories."
"Play it."
I play the first section, the moderato, well enough, and beside me, Michel sighs.
"Lovely" he says and when I look at him, his eyes are closed and a soft smile is on his lips. "Why does it break your heart? Is it just because of her death?"
"No," I say. "It's just so beautiful and so powerful and so haunting. My psychiatrist made me try to finish learning it as therapy, and it was just so lovely and passionate that I think learning it did heal me but I haven't mastered the end."
I play the middle section, which is the most beautiful and then back to the main theme again but when I get to the coda, I can't continue. It's far too hard without much more practice. I rest my hands on my lap.
"That's as far as I can get."
"You should continue practicing until you master it," Michel says.
"I've been so busy with school, I've let other things slide."
"School is a means to an end," he says. "Music is an end in itself."
Hearing it, playing it, has made my heart ache, but it's a good ache. One that reminds me that I loved my mother and she loved me.
"Your turn," I say and move over a bit so he can play. "Play the piece that breaks your heart."
"Very well." He takes in a deep breath and starts, and I don't recognize it.
"Also Chopin," he says. "We have similar tastes."
"What is it?" I say, feeling the emotion in the piece tug at my heart.
"Nocturne in E Minor. His first, written when he was just seventeen."
"It's so beautiful and so sad."
He nods, and he was right when he said music was one of his passions, because he's playing the piece with such a beautiful and expert touch that I know it is his passion.
"Why does this break your heart?"
"I remember when I was seventeen and my heart was broken."
"Danielle?' I say. "But you chose the priesthood over her. You probably broke her heart."
"I know," he says. "But mine was broken as well."
I listen while he plays, the piece beautiful, his touch so deft.
"You play very well."
"I've had several centuries to learn. You, in contrast, are truly gifted."
The melancholy melody makes my throat close up and tears bite at the corners of my eyes. I watch him play and he's so beautiful, my fallen priest vampire-hunting vampire. When he finishes he turns to me and sees my tears, which I try to blink away, but can't.
"Oh, Eve," he whispers and pulls me into his arms. "What will I do without you?" He lifts my face up, kissing my tears, and I slip my arms around his neck.
"You won't be gone too long, will you?"
"I don't know how long," he says, kissing my neck. "Any time is too long."
Then he sighs and takes my hand, pulling me away from the piano. "I have to get ready. My plane leaves soon."
He takes me on a quick tour of the rest of the house, but now I'm in no mood for it, and take a perfunctory look in each room, the main living room, a smaller sitting room, and he opens a door and lets me peer into an industrial kitchen.
He motions to the dark haired vampire, who follows us back upstairs.
"Sleep now," he says, patting the bed. "I'll think of you lying in my bed all nice and warm and sleepy and I'll be able to relax. I'll let Raymond take you to your flat later this evening and you can gather up your things. Put them in the bathroom. I don't have any female servants, so you'll have to put up with Raymond," he says and points to the servant. "Do what he says because he's very exacting about things and keeps me in line. I'm taking Vasily with me."
"How many servants do you have?"
Michel turns to Raymond. "How many on staff, Raymond?"
"Fifteen, my Lord."
"You make your staff call you my Lord?" I turn to Michel and then look back at Raymond, who clears his throat. Oh, oh, Michel mouths, all wide-eyed faux-panic, his back to Raymond.
"My Lord de Cernay is a Vicomte from a very old and noble family and he was once the Bishop of Carcassonne."
"Yes," I say, "but there are no titles in France any longer. You know, Liberty, Equality, Fraternity?"
Raymond makes a sound in his throat and turns away, pulling back
the covers to the bed, which I see have a wet spot on them. Michel finally smiles at me, shaking his head slowly.
"You'll have my staff up in arms if you talk like that while I'm gone."
"You afraid I'll foment rebellion?" I smile, but it's forced because I know the moment we have to separate is coming quickly and I'm getting all teary again.
"Are you sure Lilith isn't your middle name?" he says, taking me in his arms and pulling me against him, kissing me. Raymond makes a face and leaves the room.
"He doesn't like me being here," I say to Michel.
"To him, I'm a priest and so he's scandalized that I have a woman staying in my bed. Since he's been with me, I've been celibate and very priest-like. Give him time."
I pull him against me more tightly. "You said you were celibate earlier. For how long?"
"When I killed my last human, I fucked my last human."
Holy hell. Over a century without sex? No wonder he was more than ready that first night.
"I feel terribly guilty that I made you break your vows," I say but I'm lying.
"You made me do nothing." He kisses me and I feel his amusement at this line of discussion. "I was the one who came into your apartment. I was the one who took you."
"Why me?" I say, genuinely curious. "Is it only because I look like her? Like Danielle?"
He sits on his bed and pulls me between his legs.
"You do look like her in a way, with that black hair and hazel eyes. But you're also different. Your freckles. Your dimples. They're your own and they're what I love about you. And your mind, of course. You have a mind that keeps me shaking my head."
What he loves about me…
He's used love twice in reference to me, saying earlier that he loved my mind while we were in the park. He said it to Soren in Montana. I reach to him, touching his cheek and when I do I feel a deep sense of warmth from him, and it envelops me like a wave and my own emotions swell in response.
"I have to go," he says and pulls me against his body, his face nuzzling in the crook of my neck, his mouth opening, his tongue over my jugular. He's feeling my pulse, enjoying the sensation of it against his tongue. He loves how close he is to my vein, how easy it would be to just bite, and his teeth do elongate and his blood lust increases, but he bears it, loving the sacrifice he makes to keep me pure. He wants to keep me pure, unbroken, untainted. If I had been a virgin, he would have let me go that day and left me intact. We would never have had sex, but I wasn't and so he feels only a normal level of Catholic guilt at fucking me.
