by J. R. Ward
His voice soothed her as surely as a stroking palm would have.
“Tell me,” she demanded, her voice reedy. “What . . . transpired?”
“Things went satisfactorily in the OR,” he said slowly. “I reset the vertebrae, and the spinal cord wasn’t completely compromised.”
Payne hitched her shoulders up and tried to resettle her heavy, aching head, but the contraption about her kept her right where she was. “Your tone . . . speaks more than your words.”
She got no immediate reply to that. He just kept soothing her with his hands that she could not feel. His eyes conversed with her own, however—and the news was not good.
“Tell. Me,” she bit out. “I deserve naught else.”
“It was not a failure, but I don’t know where you’ll end up. Time is going to tell us more than anything else.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, but the darkness terrified her. Throwing her lids open, she clung to the sight of her healer . . . and hated the self-blame in his handsome, grim face.
“’Tis not your fault,” she said roughly. “It is what is meant to be.”
Of that, at least, she was sure. He had tried to save her and done his level best—the frustration at himself was so very clear.
“What is your name?” he said. “I don’t know your name.”
“Payne. I am Payne.”
When he frowned again, she was fairly sure that the nomenclature did not please him, and she found herself wishing she had been birthed to other syllables. But there was another reason for his displeasure, wasn’t there. He had seen her from the inside and had to know she was different from him.
He had to know she was an “other.”
“What you suppose to be true,” she murmured, “is not wrong.” Her healer drew in a vast breath and seemed to hold it for a day. “What goeth on in your mind? Speak to me.”
He smiled a bit, and ah, how lovely that was. So lovely. ’Twas a shame it was not from humor, however.
“Right now . . .” He drew a hand through his thick, dark hair. “I’m wondering whether I should just let it all go and play dumb like I don’t know what’s going. Or get real.”
“Real,” she said. “I do not have the luxury of even a moment of falsity.”
“Fair enough.” His eyes locked on her. “I think that you—”
The door to the room opened a bit and a fully draped figure peered inside. Going by the delicate, pleasing scent, it was Jane, hidden beneath blue robing and a mask.
“It’s almost time,” she said.
Payne’s healer’s face became positively volcanic. “I do not agree with this.”
Jane came inside and shut them all in. “Payne, you’re awake.”
“Indeed.” She tried to smile and hoped that her lips moved. “I am.”
Her healer put his body betwixt them, as if he sought to protect her. “You can’t move her. It’s about a week too soon for that.”
Payne glanced over at the curtains that hung from the ceiling to the floor. She was nearly certain there were glass windows on the other side of the pale bolts of fabric, and very sure that if that were the case, every one of the sun’s rays would pierce through when dawn came.
Now her heart pounded and she did feel it behind her ribs. “I must go. How long?”
Jane checked a timepiece on her wrist. “About an hour. And Wrath is on his way here. Which will help.”
Perhaps that was why she felt so weak. She needed to feed.
As her healer seemed on the verge of speech, she cut him off to address her twin’s shellan. “I shall handle this here. Please leave us.”
Jane nodded and backed out the door. But no doubt stayed close by.
Payne’s human rubbed his eyes as if he were hoping that doing so would change his perception . . . or perhaps this reality they were stuck in.
“What name would you want me to have?” she asked quietly.
He dropped his hands and considered her for a moment. “Screw the name thing. Can you just be honest with me?”
Verily, she doubted that was a promise she could give him. Although the technique of burying memories was easy enough, she was not overly familiar with the repercussions of doing it, and her concern was that the more he knew, the more there was to hide and the more damage that could be rendered upon him.
“What do you wish to know.”
“What are you.”
Her eyes returned to the closed curtains. As sheltered as she had been, she was aware of the myths that the human race had constructed around her species. Undead. Killers of the innocent. Soulless and without morals.
Hardly something to crow about. Or waste their last few precious moments on.
“I cannot be exposed to sunlight.” Her gaze shifted back to him. “I heal far, far faster than you. And I need to feed before I am moved—after I do, I shall be stable enough to travel.”
As he looked down at his hands, she wondered if he was wishing that he hadn’t operated on her.
And the silence that stretched out between them became as treacherous as a battlefield, and just as dangerous to cross. Yet she heard herself say, “There is a name for what I am.”
“Yeah. And I don’t want to say it out loud.”
A curious ache began in her chest, and with supreme effort, she dragged her forearm upward until her palm rested over the pain. Odd that her whole body was numb, but this she could feel. . . .
Abruptly, the sight of him became wavy.
Immediately, his expression gentled and he reached forward to brush her cheek. “Why are you crying?”
“Am I?”
He nodded and lifted his forefinger so she could see it. On the pad, a single crystal drop glistened. “Do you hurt?”
“Yes.” Blinking quickly, she sought and failed to have him come into focus. “These tears are rather irritating.”
The sound of his laughter and the sight of his white, even teeth lifted her, even as she stayed upon the bed. “Not one for crying, are you, then,” he murmured.
“Never.”
He leaned to the side and brought forth a square tissue that he used to blot what ran down her face. “Why the tears.”
It took her a while to say it. And then she had to: “Vampire.”
He eased back down into the chair beside her and took elaborate care folding up the square and then tossing it into a squat bin.
“I guess that’s why Jane disappeared a year ago, huh,” he said.
“You do not appear shocked.”
“I knew there was something big doing.” He shrugged. “I’ve seen your MRI. I’ve been inside of you.”
For some reason, that phraseology heated her up. “Yes. You have.”
“You’re just similar enough, though. Your spine was not so different that I didn’t know what I was doing. We were lucky.”
For truth, she did not share that opinion: After years of caring naught for males, she felt a mystical pull toward this one, and it was the sort of thing she would have liked to explore had they not been where they were.
But as she had learned long ago, fate was rarely concerned with what she wanted.
“So,” he pronounced, “you’re going to handle me, right? You’re going to make this whole thing go away.” He waved his arm in a vague manner. “I won’t recall this at all. Just like when your brother came through here a year ago.”
“You shall perhaps have dreams. Nothing more.”
“Is that how your kind have stayed hidden.”
“Yes.”
He nodded and glanced around. “You going to do it now?”
She wanted more time with him, but there was no reason for him to see her feed from Wrath. “Soon enough.”
He glanced back at the door and then looked her straight in the eye. “Will you do me a favor.”
“But of course. It would be a pleasure to serve you.”
One of his brows flicked and she could have sworn his body threw off more of that delicious scent of hi
s. But then he became utterly grave. “Tell Jane . . . I get it. I understand why she did what she did.”
“She is in love with my brother.”
“Yeah, I saw it. Back . . . wherever we were. Tell her it’s cool. Between her and me. After all, you can’t help who you fall for.”
Yes, Payne thought. Yes, that was so very true.
“You’ve been in love?” he asked.
As humans did not read minds, she realized she’d spoken out loud. “Ah . . . no. I . . . no. I have not.”
Although even this short time with her healer was informing. He fascinated her, from the way he moved to how he filled out his white coat and blue dressings, to the scent of him and his voice.
“Are you mated?” she asked, fearing his answer.
He laughed in a hard burst. “Hell, no.”
Her breath left her on a relieved sigh, even as it was strange to think that his status mattered as much as it did. And then there was nothing but silence.
Oh, the passing of time. How regrettable it was. And what should she say to him in these final minutes they had left? “Thank you. For caring for me.”
“My pleasure. I hope you recover well.” He stared at her as if trying to memorize her, and she wanted to tell him to stop trying. “I’m always here for you, okay? If you need me to help you . . . come and find me.” Her healer took out a small, stiff card and wrote something on it. “That’s my cell. Call me.”
He reached forward and slipped the thing into the weak hand that rested o’er her heart. As she gripped what he’d given her, she thought of all the repercussions. And implications.
And complications.
With a grunt, she tried to shift herself around.
The healer was instantly on his feet. “You need repositioning?”
“My hair.”
“Is it pulling?”
“No . . . please unbraid my hair.”
Manny froze and just stared down into his patient’s face. For some reason, the idea of unraveling that thick rope seemed pretty goddamned close to getting her naked, and what do you know, his sex drive was all over it.
Jesus . . . he had a frickin’ hard-on. Right under his surgical scrubs.
See, he thought, this was the unpredictable law of attraction at work, right here, right now: Candace Hanson offered to blow him and he’d been about as interested as he was in wearing a dress. But this . . . female? woman? . . . asked him to unveil her hair and he was all but panting.
Vampire.
In his head, he heard the word spoken in her voice with her accent . . . and the thing that shocked him most was his lack of reaction to the news flash. Yeah, if he considered the implications his motherboard started to spark and fizzle: Fangs are not just for Halloween and horror flicks anymore?
And yet the freaky thing was the unfreaky.
That and this sexual-attraction thing he had going on.
“My hair?” she said.
“Yeah . . .” he whispered. “I’ll take care of it.”
His hands did not tremble ever so slightly. Nope. They did not.
They shook like a motherfucker.
The end of the braid was tied with a length of the softest fabric he’d ever felt. It wasn’t cotton; it wasn’t silk. . . . It was something he’d never seen before, and his keen surgeon’s fingers seemed sloppy and too rough on the stuff as he worked at the winding knot. And then her hair . . . good God, her wavy black hair made that cloth feel like nettles in comparison.
Inch by inch, he separated the tripart weave, the waves both slick and clinging. And because he was a bastard, all he could think about was the shit falling over his bare chest . . . his abs . . . his cock—
“That’s far enough,” she said.
Damn straight it was. Yanking his inner manwhore back to the land of polite conversating, he forced his hands to stop. Even halfway undone, the reveal was astounding. If she was beautiful all tied up, she was utterly resplendent with those waves curling around her waist.
“Braid it in, please,” she said, holding his card out with her lax hand. “That way no one will find it.”
He blinked and thought, Well, duh. There was no way in hell the Goateed Hater would be cool with his sister reaching out and touching her surgeon—
Not touching, he corrected himself.
Well, maybe a little touching. Like he could just do her. Er . . . touch her.
Time to shut it, Manello, even though you’re not talking out loud.
“You are brilliant,” he said. “Altogether smart.”
That got her to smile, and file that under Holy Shit. Those incisors of hers were sharp and white and long . . . and evolutionarily designed for striking at the throat.
An orgasm tingled in the tip of his arousal—
And at that moment a frown passed over her face.
Oh, mannnn. “Ah . . . can you read minds?”
“When I am stronger, yes. But your scent just grew more intense.”
So she was making him sweat and somehow knew it. Except . . . he got the feeling she was clueless as to the why, and wasn’t that as tantalizing as the rest of her: She was utterly guileless as she stared up at him.
Then again, she might well not think of him sexually because he was a human. And hello, she’d just gotten out of the OR, so this was hardly spring break on Myrtle Beach.
Manny cut off his second interior convo and folded his business card in half. The good news about all her hair was that it was the work of a moment to camo his info in the braid. When he was finished, he rewrapped the cloth and tied a bow; then he carefully set the length down beside her on the bed.
“I hope you use it,” he said. “I really do.”
Her smile was so sad that it told him his chances were not all that hot, but come on. Contact between the two species was obviously not on their hit list or the term blood bank would have totally different connotations.
But at least she had his info.
“What do you think will happen?” she asked, nodding down at her legs.
His eyes followed her lead. “I don’t know. The rules are obviously different with you . . . so anything is possible.”
“Look at me,” she said. “Please.”
He cracked a smile. “Never thought I’d say this . . . but I don’t want to.” He braced himself, but couldn’t make the shift up to her face quite yet. “Just promise me something.”
“What may I grant you?”
“Call me if you can.”
“I shall.”
She didn’t mean it, however. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he was damn certain. Why she was keeping the card, though? Not a clue.
He glanced at the door and thought of Jane. Shit, he should apologize in person for being a little bitch about all this. “Before you do it, I need to go—”
“I wish I could leave something of myself behind. With you.”
Manny snapped back around and locked his eyes on her. “Anything. I want anything you can give me.”
The words were a dark growl, and he was very aware that he was talking sexually—and how much of a pig did that make him?
“Except anything tangible . . .” She shook her head. “It would be of harm to you.”
He stared at her strong, beautiful face . . . and lingered on her lips. “I have an idea.”
“Whatever would you like?” The innocence in her stare gave him pause. And lit up his libido like a bonfire.
Not like it needed the help.
“How old are you?” he asked abruptly. He might be a letch, but he didn’t do underage anything. She was sure as hell built like an adult, but who knew what their maturity rate was—
“I am three hundred and five years of age.”
Blink. Blink. Annnnnnd one more for good measure. Sure as shit that had to be of age, he thought. “So you’re marriageable?”
“I am. I am not with a male, however.”
So there was a God. “I know what I want, then.” Her. Naked. All over
him. But he’d settle for a hell of a lot less.
“What?”
“A kiss.” He held up his hands. “Doesn’t have to be all hot and heavy. Just . . . a kiss.”
When she didn’t reply, he wanted to kick his own ass. And thought seriously of turning himself in to that brother of hers for the beating he deserved.
“Show me how?” she whispered.
“Does your kind not . . . kiss?” God only knew what they did. But if any parts of the legend held true, sex was in the repertoire big-time.
“They do. I just never have before—Are you ill?” She reached out with her hand. “Healer?”
He opened his eyes . . . which evidently had slammed shut. “Let me ask you something. Have you ever been with a man?”
“Never with a human man. And . . . not with a male, either.”
Manny’s cock just about blew its top off. Which was nuts. It had never mattered to him before whether a woman had been with someone . . . or not. Actually, the kind of chicks he usually went for had lost their virginity in their early teens—and never looked back.
Payne’s clear, pale eyes stared up at him. “Your scent is even stronger.”
Probably because he’d broken out in a sweat trying not to orgasm.
“I like it,” she added in a deeper voice.
There was an electric moment between them, one that he could not believe would be erased by any mind-over-gray-matter parlor trick. And then her lips parted and her pink tongue came out to wet her mouth . . . as if she were imagining something that made her thirsty.
“I think I want to taste you,” she said.
Right. Fuck kissing. If she wanted to eat him raw he was down for it. And that was before he watched the tips of her white fangs drop even farther from her upper jaw.
Manny could feel himself panting, but he couldn’t hear a thing as the blood roared in his ears. Goddamn it, he was on the verge of losing control—and not in a metaphoric sense. He was literally a heartbeat away from stripping the blankets off her body and mounting her. Even though she was in traction. And had never been with anyone before. And wasn’t his kind.
It took all he had in him to stand up and step back.
Manny cleared his throat. Twice. “I think I’d better take a rain check.”
