He opened his senses and listened for her. He felt Christian's presence as well as Seta's. They were both sleeping, Christian having reached the mending stage, but Seta wasn't quite there yet. Her worry for him was evident.
Rest, Rialto. You are much too weak.
Yes, Mother
He waited until he sensed Seta disappearing into the deep sleep, their mental link weakening, and then he made his way through the narrow tunnel which ran between the rooms. He passed the rooms where Seta and Christian slept, following Aria's scent.
He found her in the bedroom directly beneath the church. He stood in the entrance and stared at her, his hands in his pockets so they wouldn't reach out for her like they wanted to. She lay on her back in the bed, one hand resting over her abdomen, the other curled beside her head. He knew how uncomfortable she must be, fully clothed in that tight little T-shirt and equally snug jeans, breathing what little fresh air reached Christian's dwelling. He hadn't meant for her to spend the night here. She should be in her own bed, resting comfortably in her nightclothes. An image of her naked body resting against his under thin cotton sheets flashed through his mind, instantly heating his groin until it throbbed painfully. Dammit. Could he not even look at her fully clothed without his mind going there?
Muttering a curse under his breath, he fought to remind himself why he couldn't indulge in fantasy. The nightmare he woke from moments ago was too horrible to allow. It wasn't worth it. Not a million kisses, a million nights inside her, nothing. Nothing was worth the eternal hell he would suffer through if he lost control and turned her into something evil.
He had to find her mother's killer and he had to do it now. Then he could let her go. He knew full well he might die if he continued to thirst after her blood, but at least she would be safe.
He walked toward the bed almost hypnotically and stood beside it, staring down at her. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically as she slept, her stomach emitting a soft growl. Had they not seen to it that she had been fed? Rialto shook his head in frustration. She had to be worn out to be sleeping so late and hungry on top of that. If he was supposed to be taking care of her, he wasn't doing a great job.
"I'm going to find your mother's killer,” he whispered earnestly, regretting the mistake once her eyes fluttered open.
"Rialto?” A crooked, drowsy grin emerged as she stretched, causing her breasts to jut forward, not a good move considering the current state of Rialto's body.
"Go back to sleep,” he said gruffly, struggling to tamp down his urge to ravish her. Why had he stepped into the room? He should have known what would happen if she awakened all dewy eyed, soft, warm and inviting. He clenched his jaw tight as he saw the longing smoldering in her eyes.
Her eyes turned into narrowed slits as they inspected him. He'd forgotten she couldn't see as well as he could in the dark. “You look good, from what I can tell,” she said sleepily. “It really gave me a scare when I saw you lying on the chaise so . . . still.” Deathlike was what he heard her say in her mind. A pang of guilt hit him hard. He never should have allowed her to feel so much for him.
"How do you feel?” she asked.
"Tired,” he answered honestly, averting his eyes. She was propped up on her elbows now, her T-shirt stretched taut over her chest, bringing attention to the two perfectly shaped mounds begging for his touch. She didn't seem aware of the invitation she was giving, but the action was wreaking havoc with his hormones.
"You should be sleeping. It's daytime."
"You should be awake."
"I didn't sleep much last night, and when I did it wasn't really relaxing."
Rialto quirked an eyebrow, sensing she was holding something back that might prove important. “Why didn't you sleep?"
"I sort of had a nightmare."
The way her gaze fell away from his tripped his inner alarm system. It had been a long time since he had seen the old witch in his dreams. Was it actually possible the hag had visited Aria as well? Knowing she was infamous for making vampires relive their darkest moments, he gulped back both anger and dread, his libido momentarily forgotten.
"What exactly did you dream about, Aria?” His voice may have been rough, his eyes dark and cold, but the degree to which she winced revealed that something other than his demeanor had scared her. “The Dream Teller?"
She nodded slowly as she rose to a sitting position, wrapping her arms around herself as though warding off a chill.
"Must have been some dream.” He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her. “What did she show you?"
"I saw Antonia,” she said cautiously, seeming to hesitate before mentioning his former love's name. “I was there when those men . . . hurt her that night."
Hurt didn't begin to describe what they'd done to her, Rialto thought, as he swallowed hard, his jaw clenched tight enough to break a tooth. She had been innocent before he changed her over, and even if she hadn't been, nobody deserved to go through what she had that night.
"I'm sorry you saw that,” he said. “Was that all you saw?"
"No."
He waited for the rest, but when a few minutes passed in silence, he accepted the fact that he would have to broach the subject himself. “You saw me change her over, didn't you?"
"Yes.” Her tone was full of apology, which told him all he needed to know. She was horrified by what he'd done. He couldn't blame her, and it was probably for the best.
"I'm sorry, Aria. I never meant to turn her into a monster, and I never intended for you to know any of this."
"Why are you apologizing to me?"
"Because Antonia was the one I destroyed, but I can't apologize to her because she's not here."
He tensed when he felt her hand grip his shoulder, turning him to face her as she rose to her knees. “Who apologizes to you?"
"What?” He searched her eyes, baffled by the emotion he saw in them. Anger and disgust he could deal with, but the sympathy he saw was completely unexpected. He found himself at a loss for words.
Aria shook her head and let out a deep sigh. “In that dream, I saw what you did, Rialto, and yes, it was wrong. You didn't know that though, not in the state of mind you were in. You thought you were saving her."
"And what do you know of my state of mind?"
"I didn't just see what happened that night, Rialto. I felt it. I felt what was going through Antonia when she was attacked, how badly she wanted revenge afterward, and when you found her . . . I felt both of you."
"You felt both my emotions and hers? At the same time?"
"Yes. Antonia didn't want to be a vampire, but you loved her and you didn't want her to die. It was a mistake, Rialto, just a horrible mistake."
He didn't hear her words, too caught up in the fact that she'd felt Antonia's emotions as well as his own. Why hadn't he? Was it one of the old witch's tricks? Had she made Aria feel Antonia's emotions? He'd lived that night and not once had he felt what was going through her.
"Rialto? What is it?"
He jerked when she touched his shoulder, silently cursing himself when he felt her recoil. “I'm sorry, Aria. It's not you. You need to go back to sleep, and so do I.” He stood to leave, and the room went black. He immediately fell back onto the bed in a half-sitting, half-lying position.
"Rialto! Lay down. You're not well."
"I'm fine. I just got a little dizzy."
"No, you are not fine.” She was standing on the floor now, trying to lift his legs so she could position him on the bed. “Dammit, Rialto. Get yourself in this bed and rest."
"If I sleep here, where are you going to sleep?"
"There was a sofa and a chaise . . ."
"No. You need plenty of air and this is the best room for that. It's why you chose it in the first place. Just let me rest a few minutes, and then I'll go."
"You're sick because of me."
"That's nonsense."
"Your mother already told me, Rialto. You can't deny it. You need my blood to survive."
&nbs
p; "Possibly."
"Possibly? Possibly? Is that all you're going to say? You could die!"
"Well, seeing as how I should have died over a hundred years ago, I'd say I'm overdue for it, wouldn't you?"
"Don't talk like that. It's not the least bit funny."
There was something in her tone that unsettled him. He turned to look at her, noting the deep concern in her wide, damp eyes and the hard set of her jaw. She was either terrified or pissed. “Relax, Aria. I'm not going to go jump off a building in an attempt to end my life. Even if I did I would land on my feet.” He smiled, trying to ease her mind, but she didn't soften.
"You wouldn't jump off of a building, but would you lie in the sun? Would you do something so selfish and stupid?” Her voice rose with each word until she was nearly shouting. A stray tear escaped from her eye, trickling down her cheek.
Rialto felt his chest tighten, memories best left forgotten creeping back into the center of his mind. He'd tried to kill himself by sunlight many, many years ago. He'd punished himself for the murder of Antonia, but how would she possibly know that? “What all did you see in your dream, Aria?"
"I told you, and you're not going to get away with changing the subject."
"And just what is the subject? You're suddenly very angry with me and I haven't a clue as to why.” Hell, maybe he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. If she was angry with him she'd be less likely to put him in a position to lose control and change her over. But it still hit a nerve. He didn't want her angry with him, at least not without a good reason.
"Your life has value, Rialto."
"Ohh-kay.” He stared at her, trying to read her face, figure out what was going on in her mind, but to his surprise, couldn't read her thoughts. It was as though she had thrown up a wall, a mental block to keep him from intruding.
"I'm going to sleep on the sofa,” Aria snapped and then turned to leave, muttering a slew of colorful curses under her breath.
"Aria, wait."
"No. You need to rest. Look at you!"
Rialto groaned. The last thing he wanted was to see how pathetic and weak he must look. He felt like he had been put through the wringer at least twice. “Thanks. You really do know how to perk up a guy's ego.” He was relieved when he saw her lips quirk, almost giving in to a smile. “I wanted to tell you that I'm going to find your mother's killer."
"You've already told me that."
"No, I mean it. I meant it then too, but . . .” He swallowed hard when he saw the exasperation on her face and what looked like a trace of sympathy. That irked him. “What I'm trying to say is that I'm going to do a better job of it starting the moment I wake tonight. We've let our attraction interfere, Aria. We have to stop that right now if we want to find the monster that took your mother away from you."
Aria nodded, meekly dropping her gaze to the floor, but she hadn't looked away quickly enough. He'd seen the guilt in the depths of her eyes. “You're a good daughter, Aria."
She looked at him, her eyes shimmering with restrained tears, and he felt an ache in his chest that almost made him forget men weren't supposed to cry. He felt her pain as if it were his own. If he didn't die from refusing her blood, he would die from caring for her. What brewed between them was just too intense.
She gave a miserable shake of her head. “A good daughter would never stray from the goal. I've been so worried about you . . ."
"That's my fault,” he quickly interrupted. “I allowed things to happen that never should have taken place. You are a good daughter. What you have been subjected to these last few days . . . It's bigger than you. You just got swept away in the tide. We both did, but I won't allow it to happen again."
She nodded again, firmer this time. “So we stay strictly business, until we get this guy."
"We stay strictly business, period. For both our sakes."
Her eyes widened as if she'd been slapped, but only for a second. She quickly composed herself and nodded in agreement. “You're right. It's for the best."
Rialto should have been relieved, happy even, that she agreed with him so easily, but something inside his chest ached. It was a good thing he didn't need air in his lungs to live because he couldn't quite breathe.
"Okay.” He found himself standing by the bed, looking at her, waiting. But what was he waiting for? Did he expect her to cry, to declare her undying love for him? Beg him to make love to her again? That was exactly what they both needed to avoid so why couldn't he just let go of the passion he felt for her? Passion be damned, he had a job to do.
"All right then. I'll see you at twilight. Christian will see to it that you're fed and taken care of when he wakes for his afternoon prayer session.” He walked past her, pushing through the dizziness that was increasing with every step he took. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at her, watching her in profile as she fluffed the bed pillows, readying herself for sleep, and wondered why he felt as though he had just lost something very, very important.
Eron groaned as consciousness crept back in. He strained to focus his eyes but all he got for his effort was one big blur. Closing his eyes, he relied on his other senses, not that his telepathic abilities were working, but he still had hypersensitive hearing and sense of smell. Smelling could backfire, he had already discovered, as he was in some type of laboratory filled with odors that made his sensitive eyes burn as though they were filled with the fires of hell. Still, he knew if he ever got out of here he would have to know what was in the fluid his captor kept injecting into his system. You couldn't destroy something if you didn't know what it was. He couldn't put a name to all of the chemicals he smelled, but he could run tests, matching smell to chemical name.
If he got out of here.
He growled, the sound soft and impotent, failing to release his frustration. Instead, it made him angrier. He was Eron, a king amongst his kind. He hadn't run across a vampire older than himself in centuries. They were around, but not so many that their paths would cross. Most of the older vampires were the Elders, the most powerful and respected of their kind. They were rumored to live above the rest of the world in the Ancient Palace, a mountain region settled in the clouds where they were invisible to man and vampire-kind. They sat there on their thrones and watched the world beneath them, judging the entire vampire race.
Eron chose not to believe the rumors, instead believing they had gone underground, burying themselves deep in the earth where they could live mummified for an indefinite amount of time, a feat only the oldest and most powerful could do. But either way, they were probably laughing at him right now.
How had he been captured?
He struggled to find the answer to the question that had been looming over him during his entire imprisonment. How long had it been? He had tried keeping track of the days in his mind, but after the first month the blood loss reached a level that made him virtually incapable of tracking anything. His internal clock had failed him, along with many of his other vampiric abilities. The lab he was confined in was windowless, and if he was correct, underground.
He slowly opened his eyes, allowing them time to adjust to the harsh glare of the overhead lights. Bright light was painful to a vampire's sensitive eyes, a fact which Eron suspected his captor knew well. Indeed, his captor seemed to know a lot about vampires, as if he had studied them extensively for several years. He wondered if he was the first guinea pig manacled in this lab, or if others had hung from the same wall, eventually dying from the pain and blood loss.
Eron wouldn't die easily. He was confident in that. Even though he was drained repeatedly of his life preserving blood, it would take far more than that to kill him. As long as he still had some blood in him, any amount at all, he would survive. He was nearing the stage of his life where he could go underground and live in the earth as a mummy for centuries. He might do just that if he ever managed to escape.
Seta would dig him up and kill him for being so stupid.
He struggled to call out for her, but he cou
ldn't. Their mental link was completely destroyed. The repeated blood loss was too great. If he weren't so old, he'd have been dead weeks ago. He wondered if Seta could feel him at all. Surely she would come for him, but then again, she had been furious with him the last time they'd parted ways.
He should have given her what she wanted. Hell, it was what he wanted too. When he was sent to save the little witch's life he hadn't a clue that she would enthrall him so. From the first moment she'd opened her eyes as a vampiress, he was infatuated. The brightest of diamonds paled in comparison to her unmatched beauty. She was fire and ice, attitude and cold aloofness. She got what she wanted by using both magic and feminine charm.
But she was never cold with him. He had trained her, taught her the ways of a vampire. Through him she had learned their history, their code, their purpose. He taught her how to use her vampiric abilities along with her inherent magical powers to protect herself and mankind. She was a powerful protector, and the best friend he'd ever had. Eventually she became his best lover as well, and that was when things had gone wrong.
The sound of footsteps outside the lab drew Eron's attention, temporarily taking it away from the pain in his heart. His captor was returning. He could smell the man's scent over the other smells permeating the laboratory. It was his own scent. How was that possible?
The door across the room from him opened, his captor bustling in with a wide-eyed look that clearly indicated something was wrong. Eron remained silent, long ago giving up the idea that the man might give him some useful information—or at least tell him why he felt so much animosity toward him personally.
The man opened up desk drawers, rifling through papers and files in a disorganized, erratic manner, slamming the drawers shut when he apparently didn't find what he was looking for. He did the same with the drawers and storage boxes under the lab tables, then ransacked the book shelves lining the left wall of the room.
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