When the cab stopped, I shoved the money into the man's hand, more than enough to cover the ride and a generous tip, and shot from the car. I was halfway up the steps to the apartment complex before I stopped to take a breath. A few deep inhales and slow exhales and I made my way to the door, sure I was ready.
The door was pushed open before I could touch it. A tall blond man stood there, staring at me.
"Lydia?"
I nodded. From the look in his eyes, it was clear he knew me well. Trying to remember him brought up nothing but a blank. I did my best not to let it show. "Hey.
I'm here to see my father. . . . "
With a quick nod, he ushered me inside. "He's in the middle of a class, but I don't think he'll mind." He smiled uncertainly, then laughed. "Hell, I know he won't."
As we walked toward the main elevator, just past the small, badly lit lobby, the man took my hand. I stopped and tugged my hand away, frowning at him. He frowned back.
"Lydia, it's me, Michael. What's wrong?" He reached for me again. I took a step back. "Why are you looking at me like you don't know me? I missed you."
Lip pressed between my teeth, I shook my head. It was time to start being honest. In small intervals, at least. "I don't remember you, Michael. I'm sorry." I glanced toward the elevator. "Look, let's just go see my father. I'll explain everything to him, and we'll take it from there."
Michael inclined his head and pressed his thumb to the button to call the elevator. He looked disappointed, but it couldn't be helped. Right now, my only concern was that my father didn't take my memory loss too hard. It was only his feelings that mattered. Not this man's. Not my own.
Everything rode on my father's reaction.
The elevator went down, which I thought was strange. I concluded that my father must give private lessons in the basement. I wondered if that was where he'd taught me as well. When the door opened, I saw quickly that I'd been right.
The room was set up for training. Mats were piled in the corner, and the wood floor was scuffed, most noticeably in a large circle around the room where I assumed the class did laps. Mirrors lined three of the walls, and the bare cement of the fourth bore a large, red symbol wreathed in smaller writing that obviously wasn't English.
This room was empty, but I could hear voices in an adjoining room. Michael motioned for me to follow him, leading me out of sight beyond the sharp bend of one of the walls.
I could see them now, my father's class, consisting of a group of about ten boys and girls. They were my age or younger. I watched him lead them in what appeared to be slow-motion swordplay, a wooden blade in every hand but his. The sword in his hand was razor sharp and flashing in the light. I watched him, fascinated, as he executed every movement with grace and control. There was no mistaking it. This was my father.
I felt his green eyes on me before I noticed them, boring into me as though he could see so much more than I could ever say. I watched him sheath the sword and held my breath when he gave his class a sharp command and left them in kneeling meditation to come to me.
Taller than me by a good foot, no more than a few gray strands in his tightly bound brown hair, my father was a man who embodied the very essence of power.
Knowing the strength of my own body, I had expected him to be fit. I hadn't imagined that he would be quite so imposing. My dream of being warmly embraced and coddled by him seemed ridiculous now. He didn't seem like the affectionate type.
He reached out and pulled me to him with one arm, giving me a quick hug. It didn't feel like much of a hug though. The hard squeeze seemed like something of a test, almost painful, as though he wanted to see if I'd grown soft. I did my best not to disappoint him. From the look in his eyes, I had a feeling I had somehow failed.
"It's good that you came, Lydia," he said, sounding sad.
My brow creased. "I came as soon as I could." It seemed like the right answer, though I wasn't sure what he'd meant by the comment. I'd been expecting something more along the lines of the greeting Michael had given me.
My father inclined his head. He looked to Michael. "Get her a chair."
With a quick nod, Michael rushed out. He looked a little confused as well. It was a relief to know I wasn't the only one.
Michael returned with a sturdy wooden chair. My father took my hand and led me to it. At a loss, I simply sat.
At another sharp command, my father's students approached. Sitting around my father and me in a rough semicircle, they gawked up at him, wide-eyed, as he began to speak. "Class, this is my daughter, Lydia. She was my best student. The teaching has been so deeply ingrained that even upon being cursed she returned to me for release rather than plague the world with her existence."
Blinking, I looked up at him and shook my head. "Release?" I pushed to my feet.
"Wait a second, that's not . . . ."
I froze when he swiftly turned to face me, sword in hand, resting the blade against my throat. "It is too late to save yourself, demon. My daughter used the last of her strength to compel you here. I will honor her by seeing to your destruction."
I went very still. Clarity came to me with brutal force, bringing with it more pain than I had ever experienced. My father knew what I was. As far as he was concerned, his daughter was dead, and I was nothing but a demon with her face. He wanted to kill me.
Even with nothing left to live for, suddenly, inexplicably, I wanted to live.
Bowing back from the sword, I kicked out in a smooth roundhouse. My shin hit his wrist, and the sword fell between us. I had shattered the bone in his wrist, but he didn't even pause. Lifting off the ground, he kicked me in the throat. My back hit the cement floor hard. The impact stole air I didn't need from my lungs. I rolled as he came down at me with a fist aimed to my gut.
Something stabbed into my neck before I could rise. My eyes widened when I set them on Michael, kneeling by me with a syringe.
"Damn you." He hissed, tears in his eyes.
My father stood and put his hand on Michael's shoulder. "Lydia will be avenged, Michael. We will get the name of the creature who did this to her before we kill her." He took the sword up in his left hand and leveled it with my chest.
A sound, a metallic click that didn't seem to belong, brought his head up.
"The name's Daederich. Nice to meet you."
My father backed away, pulling Michael with him. Daederich bent down on one knee at my side, the gun trained steady on my father.
I bit my lip. Much as I wanted to, now would be a really bad time to break down in tears. "Daederich . . . ."
Daederich didn't look away from my father. Sliding one arm under me, he straightened, pulling me to my feet beside him. "Just hold on, Lydia. I'll get you out of here."
"Even if you leave here now, I will find and destroy you both." My father stood, straight and proud, his hand still on Michael's shoulder. His tone held no inflection. It was just par for course.
Now the gun shook. "I should destroy you for what you've done to her. Your daughter came to you for help, for love."
The words finally got through to my father. He lost his calm, giving in to anger.
"That thing is not my daughter. Killing it would give my daughter peace."
I watched Daederich's finger tighten on the trigger. Swallowing, I glanced at my father, then back at Daederich. I shook my head. "Daederich, please. Don't."
Drawing in a deep breath, Daederich nodded. I could tell he wanted to blow my father's head off. He wouldn't because I had asked him not to. Though I knew nothing else, not anymore, I knew this.
Pressing a soft kiss to my brow, Daederich began backing toward the door, the gun still fixed on my father. "You have your daughter to thank for your life. Don't be foolish enough to think I'll spare you again if you come after her."
My father crossed his arms over his broad chest, chin high. "My life is worth nothing if I do not avenge my daughter."
Daederich let out a bitter laugh. "You've lost her. You're right. Your life
is worth nothing."
Using his elbow to press the button to the elevator, Daederich let me rest against the door. The sound of someone running toward us had him pulling me close. Michael stopped, inches away. The barrel of the gun pressed to his chest, right over his heart.
Michael was shaking. With fear. With rage. "She was mine!"
Meeting the younger man's angry glare with a steadfast gaze, Daederich inclined his head. "Well, she's mine now."
The doors to the elevator slid open. Daederich helped me into it and the doors closed, taking us away. Never would I forget the look on Michael's face, the last minute awareness when he'd looked into my eyes. He'd seen it, seen that it was still me. But it was far too late. Whatever he had been to me, I would never forget the fact that he had tried to help my father kill me.
Alone, but not. I wouldn't forget that Daederich had come for me, nor what he'd said. Once it would have bothered me, mere hours before in fact. At that moment, it was not a problem. At that moment, it was just nice to belong to someone. Someone who didn't want me dead.
We'd discuss the details later.
Chapter Nineteen
Later came sooner than expected.
My blood felt thin in my veins, and it probably was. I faded in and out of consciousness. No strength left for movement, I didn't attempt so much as a token resistance when Daederich carried me from the car, up to my hotel room. I wouldn't have made it on my own. His strength was more than welcome.
In the room, Daederich left me on the bed and raided my fridge. He drained two bottles of blood before returning to my side. I watched him askance. He held out his wrist.
"I'm your sire. Much as you hate it, there are some perks. My blood will help you heal."
I frowned at him. "I don't hate that you're my sire. I hate that you can control me."
Daederich waited, wrist still bared before me. Shrugging, not wanting to continue feeling drained and ill, I took hold of his wrist with both hands and pulled it to my mouth, biting down hard.
It made him chuckle, but he didn't say a word until I'd relaxed into slow, steady sucking. I guess he wanted to make sure I had my mouth full so I wouldn't interrupt.
"I've been thinking, about everything. I hadn't left Detroit yet when Carlos called with new information." He shifted over and rested back against the pillows. "I was planning to come back to you, before I knew your father killed our kind for a living. You need to know that."
I licked his wrist, watching as the flesh knitted together before my eyes. I wondered how long it would take before I got over the mystical ways in which our bodies now worked. Nibbling at my lip, I finally looked up at him. "Does it really matter why you came back? The point is that you did."
His blood, lukewarm as it worked its way through my body, returned strength to me so quickly my body forgot it had ever been brought low. I stood with ease and stepped away from the bed.
Daederich caught my wrist. "It does matter." He stood at my side. "Shit, Lydia. I love you. You knew I wasn't lying when I said it. Maybe you thought it was only the result of being stuck together, through everything. It's not. Not for me." He reached out and turned me to face him, hand on my shoulder. "That's why I was leaving. I thought it was for the best, but then I realized. I'm just as scared as you are."
I scoffed. "You aren't scared of anything, Daederich."
Letting out a gruff laugh, Daederich pulled me to him, holding me close. "I'm scared to be the cause of your death. And, damn it, I'm man enough to admit it." He shook his head and looked down. "Then I realized pushing you away was more likely to kill you than taking the chance of keeping you close. You're pretty good at taking care of yourself, but, with me leaving as a distraction, you were in more danger than you'd ever be facing things head on, with me at your side and your head on straight."
Grinning, I gazed up at him. "You sure are full of yourself. I would have managed you know."
Giving me the credit I deserved, Daederich inclined his head. "Probably, but you were an easy target in the meantime. Besides, I'm your sire. I'm responsible for you."
So the wrong thing to say. Scowling, I pulled away from him. "I won't have you treating me like a child."
His calm expression didn't change. "No, you're definitely not a child. But you have many of the vulnerabilities of one. As well as some new ones." He sighed and reached out, stroking my hair. "Lydia, it's not the loss of control that scares you—"
I hugged myself and shook my head. "I'm not scared."
Despite my attempt to turn away, Daederich caught my face and kissed me firmly on the lips. I melted against him, groaning when he stopped the kiss short.
Daederich tugged gently at my hair until I bent back to look up at him. "You are scared.
You've known nothing but pain and submission. You don't know anything else. The fear is that you never will, that nothing else will be enough."
I closed my eyes and felt the tears build. I blinked them away. "I'll never know if I don't try."
With an incline of his head to acknowledge my words, Daederich kissed me again. "Yes, but I can help you. If it turns out that you need it, then at least you can trust me. Being submissive with me alone, rather than with another, or several others, would be the better of the evils."
Not sure I had been scared before, I knew I was now. What if he was right? What if my conditioning since I'd first awakened made it so I needed that edge of control, enforced by another. The creature that I was now, the powers that came with it, the hunger, had already proved to be more than I could handle alone. What if I needed someone to help me manage it? I didn't want to hurt anybody, anybody innocent that is. Wouldn't it be better to accept Daederich, whom I knew I could trust, than seek out another in desperation? I knew well enough that I would rather give over some of my free will than have the blood of a child, a child like Daederich's son, on my hands.
The other possible repercussions nagged at me, but I pushed them aside. That didn't matter much now. No one would die if I found out I'd been conditioned to feel nothing without some pain and force.
Right now, what I needed to know was what Daederich had in mind. "So what do you want from me?"
To my utter shock, Daederich dropped to one knee. He took my hand and looked up at me. My breath seized in my throat. "I want to ask you . . . ." There was a glitter of mischief in his eyes. "Will you kill people with me?"
I opened my mouth and watched him stand. Then, I shook my head and laughed out loud. "You want me to work with you?"
His lips quivered. "What else did you think I wanted? Good gods, Lydia, you didn't seriously think I'd propose did you? Eternity is an awful long time to wear those particular shackles. You'll eventually want to test out the waters . . . ."
"I do." The words came out in a happy bubble. I didn't realize how he would interpret them.
He frowned. "You want to test out the waters? Already?"
I shook my head and giggled. "No. I want to work with you. I want to stop fighting and make this work."
The smile on my face and the broad grin on his would have been far better suited to a proposal being offered and accepted. Instead, it was for something that suited us both far more. We already had a tangible connection far more binding than marriage vows. A partnership, equal for the most part, was the most practical, and most pleasurable, relationship we could have.
Something occurred to me. "We couldn't have gone to a church anyway."
Daederich's lip curved. "Really? I don't know about that." He took my hand, pulled something from his pocket, and pressed it to my palm.
I jumped even though it didn't hurt. I'd expected it to. The legends, I was sure, all said the same thing. Holy artifacts should burn my flesh.
The little gold cross simply gleamed in the light against my pale flesh.
My brow furrowed. "So, no coffins, no aversion to crosses, and, for me, no problems with the sun." I shook my head. "Are we even immortal?"
Daederich shrugged. "I'll tell you in
a few years, if we live that long."
The grim words didn't change his light humor. Strangely enough, I got it. We were alive now. That was all that mattered. We had survived through the worst kind of hell, and now we would embrace life to its fullest, pushing to the limits, balancing on the edge.
"So, where to first?" I went over to grab my bag, sure we wouldn't be staying.
Daederich took it from me. "First, we're going to a shooting range. I need to see how good you are with a gun. I know you can outfight most, but we won't be getting that close to most of our targets."
"Sounds good." I grinned, feeling ridiculously happy about the thought of having him teach me how to pick off the bad guys. "So, when do we start?"
As though he just couldn't get enough of me, Daederich pulled me in for another hug. "Tomorrow night, my bloodthirsty little minx. We've got two weeks before the first hit in New York. We're taking the rest of the night off."
I made a face. "Why?" I was restless and ready to get started. "Can't we head to the shooting range now?"
Daederich seemed to find my eagerness amusing. "Because I need a break even if you don't. Besides"—his hands moved down to my ass—"I can think of a few other things to do if you're bored."
I didn't answer. I didn't need to. With Daederich's mouth pressing down hard on mine, no words were needed. All that was needed was pure response.
Daederich lifted my arms over my head and pulled off my shirt. The deep kiss was broken for barely a breath before he had returned to me, attacking my mouth with wild passion. I worked his shirt off, necessitating another break of the violent play of our lips. He took off my bra and moved to my neck, slowing a little as he moved me back to the bed. Kissing down my body, he slid off my jeans and held me against him as he explored my breast.
One nipple in his mouth, he curved his hand between my thighs. Something was wrong, and I knew exactly what it was when he went still. As turned on as I was, my body was dry. I groaned in frustration. I wanted him. I did. Still my body wouldn't respond.
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