by J. R. Ward
“Sire!”
At first he was utterly confused—wondering why in the hell the young female had called him that. How did she know who he was?
“Qhuinn! Let me seal you up!”
He blinked. And discovered that he had thrown himself against the headboard, and in the process, he’d torn Layla’s fangs from his flesh and he was hemorrhaging all over the sheets.
“Let me—”
He strong-armed the Chosen back and sealed his own mouth on the wound. As he took care of himself, he couldn’t take his eyes off Layla.
It was waaaaay too easy to overlay that young female’s features on Layla’s face and find something so much deeper than similarity.
As his heart started pounding, he took a little time out to remind himself that he’d never done the prescient thing. Unlike V, he couldn’t see into the future.
Layla moved slowly as she got off the bed, like she didn’t want to spook him. “Shall I go get Jane? Or perhaps it would be best if I just left.”
Qhuinn opened his mouth . . . and found that nothing came out.
Wow. He’d never been in a car accident, but he imagined the curling dread he felt now was probably the way things went when you saw someone blow a stop sign and come gunning for your side door: You triangulated their direction and their speed against your own and came to the conclusion that impact was imminent.
Although he couldn’t imagine a world in which he got Layla pregnant.
“I have seen the future,” he said from a distance.
Layla’s hands lifted to her throat as if she were choking. “Is it bad?”
“It’s . . . not possible. At all.”
As he put his head in his palms, all he could see in the darkness was that face . . . the one that was part Layla’s and part his.
Oh, God . . . save them both. Save . . . all of them.
“Sire? You’re scaring me.”
Well, that made two of them . . .
Except it couldn’t be. Could it?
“I’m going to go,” she said roughly. “I thank you for your gift.”
He nodded and couldn’t look at her. “You’re welcome.”
As the door shut shortly thereafter, he shuddered, a cold, bracing fear settling into his bones . . . and going right into his soul.
Ironic, really, he thought. His parents had never wanted him to reproduce, and go fig—the idea of shafting Layla with a defective daughter, or even worse, laying his fucked-up eyes upon an innocent young female, made him embrace his vow of celibacy like nothing else could.
And actually, he should be glad. Of all the destinies he could have seen, this was one hundred percent avoidable, wasn’t it.
He just was never going to have sex with Layla.
Ever.
So it was all an impossibility. End of.
FORTY-NINE
Manny got back to his condo around six p.m. All told he had spent eight hours at the hospital getting poked and prodded by various people he knew better than members of his extended family.
The results were in his e-mail in-box—because he’d forwarded copies of everything from his hospital account to his personal one. Not that there was any reason to open all those attachments. He knew the notes by heart. The results by heart. The X-rays and CAT scans by heart.
Tossing his keys down on the counter in the kitchen, he cracked the Sub-Zero and wished there were fresh orange juice in there. Instead . . . soy sauce packets from the Chinese takeout down the street . . . a bottle of ketchup . . . and a round tin of some kind of leftovers from a business dinner he’d had two weeks ago.
Whatever. He wasn’t all that hungry.
Restless and twitchy, he measured the light in the sky: Still some lingering to the west.
He wasn’t going to have to wait long, though.
Payne was going to come back to him after the sun had set. He could feel it in his bones. He was still not sure why she’d spent the night with him or why his memories remained, but he had to wonder if she was finally going to fix that when she got here.
Heading down to the bedroom, his first move was to snag the pillows from the floor and put them back where they belonged. Then he smoothed out the duvet . . . and was ready to get packing. Over at his bureau, he started taking out clothes and stacking them on the neatened bed.
Nothing to go back to at St. Francis. He’d resigned in the midst of all the tests.
No reason to stay in Caldwell—if anything, it was probably better that he get out of town.
No clue where he was headed, but you didn’t need a destination to leave somewhere.
Socks. Boxers. Polo shirts. Jeans. Khakis.
One advantage to having a wardrobe that consisted mainly of scrubs provided by a hospital was that he didn’t have a lot to pack. And God knew he had enough gym bags.
In the bottommost drawer of the bureau, he took out the only two sweaters he owned—
The picture frame underneath them was facing down, the little cardboard kickstand lying nice and flat against the back.
Manny reached out and picked the thing up. He didn’t have to turn it over to see who it was. He’d memorized the man’s face years and years ago.
And yet it was still a shock to pivot the picture in his hands and look at his father’s image.
Handsome SOB. Very, very handsome. Dark hair—just like Manny’s. Deep-set eyes—just like Manny’s.
Annnd that was as far as he was going to go with the retrospective. As always, when it came to shit about his dad, he just pushed it all into a mental corner and got on with his life.
Which tonight meant that the frame went into the nearest duffel and that was that—
The knock on the glass came too soon to be her, he thought.
Except then he glanced at the clock and realized that this packing routine had lasted a good hour.
Looking over his shoulder, his heart went triple-time as he saw Payne standing on the far side of the glass. God . . . damn . . . she knocked him out. She’d braided her hair and she was in a long white robe that was tied at the waist and she was . . . breathtaking.
Going over to the slider, he opened the door, and the cold blast of the night hit him in the face, snapping him into focus.
Smiling broadly, Payne didn’t so much come in as leap into his arms, her body so very solid against his own, her arms so very strong around his neck.
He gave himself a split second of holding her . . . for the last time. And then, as much as it killed him, he set her down and used the excuse of closing the gusting wind out to move away even farther.
When he glanced back at her, the joy that had been in her face was gone and she was wrapping her arms around herself.
“I figured you would come back,” he said hoarsely.
“I . . . I had good news.” Payne glanced at the lineup of gym bags on the bed. “Whatever are you doing?”
“I have to leave here.”
As her eyes shut briefly, it nearly destroyed him not to go over and comfort her. But this was hard enough already. Touching her again was going to break him in half.
“I went to the doctor today,” he said. “I spent all afternoon at the hospital.”
She blanched. “Are you ill?”
“Not exactly.” He paced around and ended up at the bureau, where he pushed the empty bottom drawer back into place. “Far from it, actually . . . It appears that my body has regenerated parts of itself.” His hand went down to his lower body. “For years, I’ve had an arthritic hip from too much sports—I’ve always known that eventually it was going to need replacing. As of the X-rays taken today? It’s in perfect condition. No arthritis to be found, no inflammation. Good as it was when I was eighteen.”
As her mouth fell open, he figured he might as well hit her with all of it. Pulling up his shirtsleeve, he ran his hand over his forearm. “I’ve had freckles from sun damage for the last two decades—they’re gone now.” He bent over and lifted his pant leg. “The shin splints I have fro
m time to time? Disappeared. And this is in spite of the fact that I ran eight miles this morning without even thinking about it—in under forty-five minutes. My blood work came back with no cholesterol problems, perfect liver values, spot-on iron and platelets.” He tapped his temples. “And I’ve been on the edge of reading glasses, doing the arm stretch with menus and magazines—except I don’t need to anymore. I can read fine print two inches from my nose. And believe it or not, all this is just the beginning.”
Don’t get him started on the lack of crow’s-feet around his eyes and the fact that the gray at his temples had been replaced with dark brown and that his knees weren’t sore.
“And you think . . .” Payne put her hand up to her throat. “And you think I am the cause?”
“I know you are. What else could it be?”
Payne started to shake her head. “I do not understand why this is not a blessing. Eternal youth has been sought after by all races—”
“It’s not natural.” At this, she winced, but he had to keep going. “I’m a doctor, Payne. I know all about the normal way human bodies age and deal with injury. This”—he motioned over his body with his hands—“is not right.”
“It is regeneration—”
“But where’s it going to stop? Am I going to Benjamin Button it and de-age all the way back to an infant?”
“That would be impossible,” she countered. “I have been exposed to the light more than you have and I am not reverting to a youth state.”
“Okay, fine, so let’s assume that doesn’t happen—what about everyone else in my life?” Not that that was a long list, but still. “My mother’s going to see me like this and think I’ve had plastic surgery—but what about in ten years? She’s only seventy—trust me, by the time she’s eighty or ninety, it is going to dawn on her that her son’s not aging. Or do I have to give her up?”
Manny got to walking again, and as he pulled on his hair, he could have sworn it was thicker. “I lost my job today—because of what happened after my memories were scrubbed. During that week I was away from you, my head was so fucked-up, I didn’t know whether it was night or day, and that’s all they have to go on, because it’s not like I can explain to them what really happened.” He turned back to her. “My issue is, this is the only body I have, the only mind, the only . . . anything. You vampires messed with my brain and I almost lost it— what are the consequences of this? All I know is the cause. . . . The magnitude of the effect? Not a clue, and that terrifies me for a good goddamn reason.”
Payne brought the tail of her thick braid over her shoulder and smoothed it while she dropped her eyes. “I am . . . sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Payne,” he groaned as he threw up his hands. “And I don’t want to put all this on you, but I—”
“It is my fault. I am the cause.”
“Payne . . .”
As he started for her, she put her palms up and backed away. “No, do not come near me.”
“Payne—”
“You are right.” She stopped when she bumped into the glass door she’d come in through. “I am dangerous and destructive.”
Manny rubbed his cross through his shirt. In spite of everything he’d said, at that moment, he wanted to take it all back and somehow find a way to make things right between them.
“It is a gift, Payne.” After all, she and the horse had demonstrated the benefits of short-term exposure. “It’s going to help you and your family and your people. Hell, with what you can do, you’ll put Jane out of business.”
“Indeed.”
“Payne . . . look at me.” When her eyes eventually lifted to his, he wanted to weep. “I . . .”
Except he let that sentence drift. The truth was, he loved her. Completely and forever. But that was the curse of all this for them both, he suspected.
He was never going to get over her, and there would never be anyone else for him.
Squaring his shoulders, he braced himself. “I have one thing to ask.”
“What would that be,” she said roughly.
“Don’t scrub me. I won’t tell anyone about you or your kind—I swear on my mother. Just . . . leave me as is when you go. Without my mind, I’ve got less than the nothing.”
Payne had been flying high when she’d left the compound. Her brother had shared the incredible news as soon as she had returned just before dawn, and she’d spent the entire day vacillating between floating on a cloud and being really impatient with how slowly time was moving.
Then she had come here.
It was hard to imagine that her heart had been so full of joy just ten minutes ago.
It was not, however, hard to understand Manuel’s position. And she was surprised that neither of them had anticipated the larger implications of her . . . healing power. Or whatever it was.
Of course it would affect him.
Looking at Manuel, she found the tension in him unbearable: He was honestly and truly anxious about what he would be left with if she took the memories of their time together away from his conscious reach. And why wouldn’t he be? He had lost his beloved job because of her. His body and his mind were in danger because of her.
Fates, she should never have gotten near him.
And this was precisely why intermixing with humans was frowned upon.
“Worry not,” she said softly. “I shall not compromise you mentally. I have done more than enough.”
As he exhaled his relief, she felt tears clog her throat.
He stared at her for a beat. “Thank you.”
She bowed a little, and when she righted herself, she was shocked to see a shimmering in his beautiful mahogany eyes.
“I want to remember you, Payne. . . all of you. All of it.” That sad, yearning stare of his searched her face. “The way you tasted and felt. The sound of you laughing . . . gasping. The time I had next to you—” His voice cracked, and he recovered by clearing his throat. “I need those memories to last me a lifetime.”
Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks as her heart stopped working properly.
“I’m going to miss you, bambina. Every day. Always.”
When he held out his arms, she went into them and lost her composure completely. Sobbing into his shirt, she was enveloped by his strong, solid body, and she held him as tightly as he did her.
And then they both broke the embrace at the same time, as if they were of one heart. And she supposed they were.
Indeed, there was a part of her that wanted to fight and argue and try to make him see another side, another way. But she was not sure there was one to be had. She could no more predict the future than he could, and she knew no more about the repercussions of what had changed within him than he did.
There was nothing left to be said. This end that had arrived unexpectedly was an impact that could not be cushioned by talk or touch or even, she suspected, time.
“I shall go now,” she said, backing away.
“Let me get the door for you—”
As she dematerialized out of his home, she realized those were the last words he would speak to her.
That was their good-bye.
Manny stared at the space his woman had just inhabited. There was nothing of her there anymore; she’d disappeared into thin air sure as a shaft of light that had been cut off.
Gone.
His immediate impulse was to go into the front hall closet, get out his baseball bat, and wreck the place. Just break all the mirrors and glass and dishes and shit—then get to work throwing what little furniture he had over the lip of the terrace. After that . . . maybe he’d take his Porsche out onto the Northway, get ’er up to a hundred, and pilot a course that terminated in the underpinnings of a bridge.
No seat belt in this scenario, obviously.
In the end, though, he just sat on the bed next to the gym bags and put his head in his hands. He wasn’t a pussy to sob like he was at a funeral. Not at all. He just dripped onto his running shoes.
M
anly. Really fucking manly.
But how he appeared to the peanut gallery of his empty condo was as unimportant as his pride, his ego, his cock and balls . . . all of it.
God . . . this wasn’t just sad.
The loss ruined him.
And he was going to carry this pain around with him for the rest of his natural life.
How ironic. Her name had seemed so strange to him at first. Now, it was so very apt.
FIFTY
Payne did not go back to the mansion; she had no interest in seeing anyone who lived there. Not the king, who had given her a freedom that it turned out she did not need. Not her twin, who had advocated on her behalf. And certainly not all the happy, fortunate, blessed couples who lived beneath that regal roof.
So instead of heading north, she re-formed herself on the shores of the waterway that ran beside the tall, glassy buildings of downtown. The breeze was gentler at ground level and carried upon it the chattering sound of the waves licking at the river’s rocky flanks. In the background, the hum from the vehicles surmounting the bridges’ gently curving backs and fading down on their far sides made her feel most keenly the depth and breadth of the landscape.
Surrounded by humans, she was totally alone.
This was what she had asked for, however. This was the freedom she had so dearly wanted and sought with greed.
In the Sanctuary, nothing had changed. But naught had gone wrong, either.
Still, though, she would e’er choose this raw hardship over her former numb insulation.
Oh, Manuel . . .
“Hey, baby.”
Payne looked over her shoulder. A human male was approaching her, having evidently stepped out from behind one of the supports of the bridge. He was weaving, and he smelled like layers upon layers of fermented sweat and dirt.
Without sparing him a greeting, Payne dematerialized farther down the riverbank. There was no reason to scrub him. He was unlikely to remember he’d ever seen her. And no doubt used to drugaddled hallucinations.
Staring at the curling surface of the river, she was not beckoned toward the dark depths. She was not going to hurt herself over this. This was no prison to get trapped in . . . and besides, she was finished with taking a cowardly route out. Bracing her feet upon the earth, she crossed her arms and just existed in the place she stood, time seeping through reality’s sieve unheeded as the stars pinwheeled overhead, changing position. . . .
