Honorable Rogue

by Linda J. Parisi

  “You drink red blood cells. Which means you don’t have bone marrow and don’t produce them. Some of your organs function, and others don’t because you don’t need them. But no matter what, your cells need to create energy, and the more energy you need to create, the more red blood cells you need to consume.”

  “All right. Your words make sense. But going rogue usually happens to older vampires.”

  “Okay. But what if this Nirvana is a trigger of some sort? What if it acts like a spark? And the spark sets off a chain reaction that can’t be stopped inside the cell. Without enough blood to supply the ever-increasing need for oxygen, the cells will burn themselves up. Do rogues ever die? Naturally?”

  “We don’t know, Tori,” Sam answered, frowning. “Because we kill them. Or else they’ll destroy an entire city of humans in their need to feed.”

  Tori’s stomach hollowed. “Sam. You have to get me back to the compound. I need to talk to Stacy. I need to get back to the lab and start testing the sample you gave me.”

  Sam finished her wine and rose as well. She put a hand on Tori’s arm to still her. “No, Tori. Hunter needs to take you. Not me. It’s his home, not mine.”

  “But—”

  Sam shook her head. “No. You need to settle things between you first.”

  Stunned, Tori simply stared. “You’d put my needs before your own? And your entire race?”

  “I would.”

  She wanted to ask why, but the question seemed to be rhetorical. “Where is he?”

  Sam inclined her head toward the door. “He’ll be arriving shortly.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tori reached out and hugged Sam. Startled at first, Sam didn’t react. Then she wrapped her arms around Tori and squeezed. “No, Tori. Thank you. What you’re trying to do for us can never be repaid.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  For the first time in his life, Hunter had no idea what he was doing. He’d run to the ocean to drown her out of his head, letting the incessant roar of the waves fill his brain. There were things even the strength of a vampire couldn’t conquer. One was the might of Mother Nature. Another was the stubborn resolve of a woman named Victoria Roberts.

  Damn it! He was a vampire leader. He had nearly a hundred vampires under his command. And yet he couldn’t even keep a simple human female safe.

  Simple human female?

  What a question.

  Hunter still couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong, where he’d lost control. He could still feel the explosion of their bodies and the aftershocks that had rocked him to his toes. He could still feel the swell of admiration as she’d told him off, the bubble of pride as she’d held herself equal to his people and to him.

  God, she was driving him crazy. He wanted to spank her, then pound his body deep inside her core.

  You need to tone down your thoughts. They’re terribly erotic.

  Get out of my head, Sam.

  I will, I believe Charles told you, when you get yours out of your ass. She’s different, Hunter.

  Yes. I’m beginning to understand your point.

  He watched the waves roll in and out, beginning to understand the consistency of time. They hadn’t changed in nearly two thousand years. Could he?

  Good. I’m glad you’re starting to think. Because we need her help, Sam continued. And I need you to have a clear head. You’re the one who knows this Casperian best. You’re the one who can plan the best way to defeat him.

  Defeat him? Could he?

  I’ll wait for you to come back to the house before I leave—just to be safe—and then meet you at the compound later. I have some things to take care of.

  Sam stepped out of Tori’s front door when he finally got there. “She’s smart, brave, and she has an incredibly huge heart, Hunter. You’ve waited nearly two thousand years to trust someone. Don’t you think it’s about time you did?”

  “She’s human,” he muttered. And yet?

  “Being human is not a plague,” she shot back. “Or a condition.”

  “No. But we both know what it makes her.”

  “Do we? Certainly not less than we are.”

  Hunter sighed. What was happening to him? His world, his existence had been crystal clear until a few days ago. “So she told me.”

  “Was she wrong?” Sam asked gently and smiled as if she could see right through him. “Are you sure about that?” Confusion filled him again.

  “I think some of your answers are in there,” Sam told him, pointing at Tori’s front door. “If you’re brave enough to try to find them.”

  “Impossible. Ill advised. Just plain wrong,” he insisted, falling back on his tried and true.

  Sam simply smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. She walked to her car, got in, and drove away. How odd. And yet?

  Suddenly, Hunter felt the need to shed some of the weight he carried. Unsettled, he walked to the door and knocked softly.

  “It’s open.”

  Not wise, but Sam had just left.

  She was standing on her balcony against a background of stars. His heart turned over in his chest. God, she was beautiful.

  She turned and walked toward him, her face filled with excitement, her gaze defiant. “I need to go back to the lab and talk with Stacy. I think I’ve figured something out.”

  “Very well.” He drew in a deep breath and let the air out before continuing. “But not until we get a few things straight.”

  She made a face. “Are you going to go all ‘Hunter’ on me?”

  His mouth quirked. “I was. I can see now it would do no good.”

  At least she had the grace to shrug. “Look. I’m not used to cat-and-mouse games. Especially vampire games. Seems like you have even fewer rules than humans.”

  Did they? Probably. And Casperian had even less. Something he wanted her to understand.

  Her gaze found his. Her shoulders straightened. Her chin lifted. But she did seem at least a little contrite. “I’m sorry,” she apologized.

  “Apology accepted.”

  She stared. Waited. Then stared some more. “And?”

  “I was wrong as well.” Hunter would never apologize for his existence. Or his right to exist. She shouldn’t have to either. But he’d made a mistake and knew when to admit he was wrong. “You’re right. I don’t own you. And so you know, the thought is truly abhorrent.”

  She stared at him. He read compassion in her gaze, not pity. “Given what you’ve told me, I don’t doubt it.”

  “Perhaps we can find a compromise,” he suggested.

  “As long as you understand I’m not one of your soldiers and refuse to be treated like one,” she answered, adamant in her stance.

  He nodded. “And you understand my actions stem from concern for your well-being—a great deal of concern.”

  Her mouth quirked. “Roundabout way of saying you care,” she groused.

  “You still refuse to understand. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  Without warning, Hunter felt the night catch up with him. He swayed. Her face fell, and she hurried toward him. “Are you all right?” She surmised rather quickly what was wrong. “You’re hungry.”

  He waved her concern away. “I’ll feed when we get back to the compound.”

  She shook her head and held out her wrist. “Least I can do.” She sat down on the couch, and he sat next to her. Her warmth enveloped him. “Doctor’s orders.”

  A touch of wonder filled him at her generosity. “Gratus,” Hunter replied with a slight bow of his head.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Hunter steeped himself in the river of her life, need filling his belly. In his mind he could see her blood travel through her arteries, into her heart, and out into her veins in answer to his call. Her heart sped up, and the tiny pulse in her neck raced.

  “Whatever you do, don’t make me high like you did the last time. I need a clear head so I can work when we get back to the compound.”

  “Very well.”
>
  Hunter bit down gently so as not to hurt her. She winced, then shivered. Warmth filled him. She grew a little colder. Loss of blood did that to a human.

  She started to babble a little. “The doctor in me finds this beyond fascinating. I can feel little pulls as you draw up my blood. You know, I’d always wondered about the mechanism. I’m way too clinical to ever take vampire movies or shows seriously.”

  Obviously, he didn’t answer. She tasted so good. And he found her nervousness rather endearing.

  She continued to blather. “But something incredibly interesting is happening. I mean, we just, umm, you know.”

  He did, indeed.

  “Well, I’m, like, ready to jump your bones again. Right now.”

  Jump my bones?

  Hunter looked up. The question in his gaze caused her to explain. “Slang. And dated, I admit. But appropriate considering what I do for a living. It means I really want to make love with you again. Like right here. Right now.”

  Hunter continued to feed. He found it strange. Not too many people wanted to “jump his bones” when he drank their blood. In fact, most of them wanted the exact opposite, to be as far away as possible. He, too, found her instantaneous attraction most interesting.

  Hunter paused. He knew he should stop, but she tasted so sweet. After one last draw, he tore his mouth away. “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned he might’ve gone too far.

  She looked pale and cold. He rose and threw a small blanket from a chair around her shoulders. “I’ll be fine. I just need some coffee and some sugar. I’m a little light headed.”

  Hunter rose and tucked her into a chair in the living room. A small gesture she seemed to appreciate. “I’ll make some.”

  Not too long after, he brought her the cup he’d brewed and a breakfast bar from a box in the cabinet. She drank the coffee slowly and nibbled the bar. Color began to return to her face, and Hunter breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I know I shouldn’t ask this, but,” she began, “would you be willing to share some of your memories?”

  Taken aback, Hunter didn’t answer right away. Sam had advised and he was willing to share some of his past, but no one had ever wanted to know about him. The real him. “Why would you want to see them?”

  She hesitated, seeming to be fighting with herself. “I need to understand you. And Casperian. Your motivations. This…this relationship you have.”

  “Just our relationship?” he asked, a thread of hurt in his tone.

  “No, not just the relationship,” she seemed to backtrack. “I’d like to know about you too.”

  But the damage had already been done. “I would think it would be obvious,” he answered. Not good enough. Never good enough, he thought, his hatred of what he was like lye to the tongue. “Master and slave.”

  “Yes, I get that part.”

  “Then what part don’t you get?” he asked, using her own words against her.

  She stilled, answering with care. “This Nirvana is a drug. Is Casperian the type of man to go to school and learn pharmacology? Or is he dealing with a drug manufacturer or some facsimile thereof? Or perhaps both?”

  Hunter sat back and realized all he could feel was a knife-like slash of hurt. Part of him had wanted to share with her. Part of him had hoped she wanted to know because she wanted to know, not because she felt she had to know. Still, she deserved an honest answer. “Your questions have merit. I suppose I can simply tell you.”

  “Very well,” she replied. “As long as you don’t think something will get lost in translation.”

  Meaning leave something out so as not to damage her frail sensibilities? Her sensibilities weren’t the reason for his hesitation. “I survived,” he answered as a prick of embarrassment filled his being.

  “Hunter. Please. I’m not here to judge. You keep thinking all I want is to know about what drives Casperian to hate you so much. That’s not true. I want to know more about you, Hunter. The real you. I’d like to be your—be your friend. If you’ll have me. Friends listen to friends’ secrets without blame. Don’t you think it’s about time you told someone the truth?”

  Hunter breathed deeply and let go. Perhaps it was. Still, the words didn’t come easily. “I was stolen from my family at the age of five. I’m Celtic. My people were known for their horses and their abilities to train them. Roman soldiers slaughtered my village and everyone in it and stole our horses for their army.”

  Hunter slipped into memory. “I served the legions first. Doing whatever the soldiers ordered when they weren’t kicking me or backhanding me. But because of my abilities and my knowledge even at so young an age, they let me work with the stable masters. Those were the best times, the times alone with the horses. I would brush their coats with a rough cloth until they gleamed in the sunlight. I would bring them small apple treats and talk with them. I cared for them, and they cared for me.”

  He smiled, remembering their beauty, their gentle giving, his pain as the soldiers had abused them. “I had one, you know. My mother gave him to me.”

  “A horse?”

  “Of course. But something even more special. A carving. Of a horse’s head. He had red eyes. They gleamed in the firelight.” His smile faded. “I wanted to work with the horses forever. But Fate had other plans. As I grew older, the soldiers began using me. I guess the term that comes closest would be ‘combat dummy.’ No one cared if I lived or died. But I did.

  “Soon word got out about my fighting skills. I fought for the centurions first. Then the tribunes. Finally, the commanding general, Marcus Tiberius Corvus. General Corvus liked to gamble. He ended up losing me in a wager to Casperian. I always thought dying in the arena would be an honorable death in a place where I alone controlled my destiny. I soon learned.”

  Hunter tried to keep the despair out of his voice. He failed. “I was given matches which were complete routs, favors owed to Casperian to build my reputation.”

  “Fight fixing?”

  He nodded. “I was forced to slaughter men far below my abilities; they forced me to fight without honor. They wouldn’t even give me a fair fight.” The old bitterness that never truly left filled him. “And I learned. I was a greyhound. I was a Thoroughbred. My only importance was to win my next match and make my master money. Winning was my only purpose.”

  “Show me,” she whispered.

  Hunter shook his head. “No. Not necessary. You need to understand Casperian, not the brutality of my time.”

  She sat back. He felt her mind open. When she did, he gave her images. Images of laughter, flickering lamps, tables laden with food, sweet strains of music in the background. And then he gave her his hunger. Gut-wrenching human hunger. Gnawing, stomach-eating hunger.

  “How do you feel, Venatorius?”

  “Tired.” He tried to remain stoic, calm, blank. “Hungry.”

  His master beckoned him closer to the dais he rested on. “Yes. You worked hard in the games today.”

  Casperian bit into a huge, ripe grape, juice bursting inside his mouth as the flesh split open and leaked out onto his cheek for Venatorius to see. Next was a huge hunk of soft, chewy bread, followed by a bite of tangy cheese. Then Casperian tore off a pigeon leg, sauce dripping, sweet and succulent, and bit off a piece of tender flesh, his teeth gleaming white against the dark brown of the bird.

  Hunter let her feel the heat of the saliva flooding his mouth. He let her feel the pain of his stomach as it had cramped and caved. He let her feel the torment as Casperian had said, “You may go to your quarters now.”

  And her next vision. With Venatorius lying on a straw-covered ledge, the rough edges biting into his back. He sat up as the door opened. A tray was placed on the floor along with a single oil lamp. On the tray sat a hunk of hard, stale bread; a bowl of boiled beans; and the partially eaten pigeon leg.

  Statement made.

  Was it enough for her to see that cruelty, for her to know a small part of what he had suffered? He certainly hoped so.


  Chapter Eighteen

  Tori was glad Hunter was driving. She needed time to process. She wasn’t used to barbaric cruelty, even though there was nothing new about it. Humans simply weren’t always kind, and she hated cruelty, fought against it with every word of the oath she’d taken. Do no harm.

  And yet she refused to let evil get the best of her. Every breath she took, every memory of Kelly—the laughing and giggling, the thousand hugs, even more kisses. She missed her baby with every particle of her soul. She fought against malice and brutality with one word. Love.

  “Casperian had power over every aspect of your life. Right down to the smallest detail.”

  “Yes.”

  Tucking her daughter back inside, she tried to imagine. She put herself in the hovel. She stared at the iron bars of a prison that allowed no escape. Her hand ran over the rough stone of the ledge which gave no comfort for sleep. She tasted the stale bread and bland beans. And she wanted more. A hollow ache carved her insides. She wanted the fruit, the sweet wine, and the whole pigeon.

  Hunter likened himself to racing animals, but he had been less than an animal. Handled with care because of his bite, caged for his master’s safekeeping, and kept because he was only as good as his next kill or...

  “Say it,” he whispered.

  Tori refused. For it would demean everything that had gone on between them.

  “Say it!”

  Okay! You want it? You got it. “Or your next fuck.”

  Then again, Tori had to wonder. He’d never been given the chance to develop a “self.” So she asked. Were you hugged? Kissed? Loved?

  He answered with one profound moment. A glimmer. From way far back in the deepest recesses of his mind. His mother. Creating a cocoon around his body. The security of a mother’s embrace. The warmth. The love.

  He knew. Filled with remorse, Tori wondered how he’d been able to plant a picture in her mind. Then she realized she’d pressed him to the edge. Ever the investigative scientist. Always excavating, when a shovel would have sufficed. And now that she’d opened his shell, she wasn’t sure she liked the meat inside. “I’m sorry. I had no right to dig.”