by J. A. Saare
Only it was, and we both knew it.
Damn it.
No wonder he was anxious.
We'd had this conversation once before.
In principle, necromancers weren't suited to become vampires.
Actually, we posed a significant threat.
We already had access to tremendous powers, including some abilities that might harm them, and I already had more than most. The change dramatically increased those powers, and there was a solid chance I'd develop more after an embrace. He hadn't even considered changing me until the shit had hit the fan. He couldn't have done it even if he wanted—half-demon and vampire law forbid such a thing.
He had the power to change those rules now.
He could do whatever the fuck he pleased.
Anger simmered to a bubble inside me, and I tried to reduce the heat.
My bitchiness wouldn't help either of us.
Count to ten. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Calm down. Now breathe in, and breathe out.
Strange that losses had helped me to control my temper somewhat, even in a situation like this. Perhaps my short fuse changed due to the knowledge it was best to pick your battles. I reminded myself that he didn't want to change me because he wanted me to be like him. He liked me exactly how I was. He only wanted to protect me. He'd seen the kind of damage my body took when I got hurt. As a mortal, without the amulet and his blood, a perfectly landed blow or wound would kill me.
He wanted that possibility off the table.
I saw the reason in his logic—he didn't want to lose me in the same way I didn't want to lose him—but there were bonuses to me staying exactly the way I'd been created. His blood would keep me from aging, and I'd be able protect the family when they couldn't venture outside. I'd be able to drive if emergencies arose and we needed an immediate out.
My ability to go out in the sun kept him safe.
Then there was the big issue: I didn't want to be a vampire.
Fuck, I didn't want to be a necromancer.
I'd tried to avoid my “gift” for years.
I enjoyed living a human life as much as the next person until wretched supernatural issues got in the way. And they did, often fucking enough, without adding a slathering of vampirism to the mix.
If he changed me, I'd see more ghosts on the daily.
Not only that, entities would seek me out.
We were like magnets searching for an opposite charge.
Spirits who revealed themselves to me manifested in the same fashion in which they died: accidents, bodies worn down until they had collapsed, and worst of all, suicides. I had seen some truly fucked-up shit. Dealing with rotting and bloody corpses who didn't know they were dead had given me nightmares for years, and those spirits hadn't meant to venture onto my path. Our meetings happened at random.
I had enough monsters surrounding me.
I didn't want or need more of them.
I'd already told Disco if he wanted me, he had to take me the way I'd come to him—as a human. I'd explained I didn't want to drink blood to survive or gain new and unexpected talents. When he'd gotten huffy the first time he asked and I'd said no, I refused to back down. We'd had a standoff, debating our points of view, going back and forth. After the confrontation, I'd hoped I wouldn't have to have the discussion again.
For fuck's sake, I'd prayed.
But he'd brought the topic up regardless.
Not wanting to argue, I said softly, "No."
His thumb stopped stroking my hand. "Rhiannon, listen to me." His tone deepened, taking on a hard edge. "You've been in my mind and know what you mean to me. You had to have suspected we'd discuss this again."
"No," I repeated and shook my head.
"This is serious." He shifted from Disco to Gabriel in a heartbeat, confronting me with what he considered a certifiable fact. "You're not being reasonable."
Rhiannon's Law #43: If you're going to put your foot down, really put it down. You choose the itinerary when going through life. Once you give your planner to someone else, it's sayonara, bitch.
We were almost at anchor and needed to rejoin our family. I was not ready to do something that would have him put The Minnow in reverse. I didn't pull my fingers away, but my decision had been made after the first confrontation. The change wouldn't happen unless there was no other alternative, and even then, I might say no.
I wasn't afraid of dying.
What scared me was losing anything else I loved.
He had every right to argue his point, and I'd understand and appreciate most of what he said. I'd feel the same in reverse. But I would not let him change me without knowing how it could impact my existence for a possible eternity. If he wanted me to change that badly, he'd have to do it by force. I knew he wouldn't force me to endure such a thing because I'd experienced his dreadful doubts and emotions.
He'd reacted badly the first time I'd told him absolutely not, arguing the issue, reminding me I was his anchor in turbulent waters as well. He needed me as much as I needed him. Regardless, I'd said no, unrelenting and determined in the issue until he'd accepted defeat and let me have some time alone.
In that moment, his thoughts were so loud I couldn't miss them.
He'd been upset because he had to have my permission before he changed me. The doubt and uncertainty in his mind swirled through my head because he was so conflicted, allowing me to understand his motives with clarity. That was the reason he'd asked in the first place, attempting to explain himself in the way I wanted him to, offering verbal responses and truths because I listened to them.
One fact remained above all others.
He wouldn't change me without consent.
He knew I'd never forgive him for the violation.
"I said," I whispered because he'd hear me, putting down my fork as I met his gaze and did something completely impulsive, opening my side of the mark and letting everything inside me come to the surface so my refusal and denial would carry emotional impact, "no."
His aquamarine irises sparked and widened with the blast of energy that came with the softly spoken word. I couldn't believe I hadn't exploded from the chair and hit the ceiling with the magnitude of it. His opposing sentiments punched into me since the mark went both ways when it was completely open. He'd instructed me to be cautious with emotional outbursts, telling me to proceed with caution if I entered his mind and attempted to manipulate it, but I hadn't expected the sensation being so fucking overwhelming.
Our wills met, converged, and detonated.
That had never happened before.
As if fate somehow anticipated we needed a major timeout before things got ugly, the cell on the counter rang. Neither of us turned to look at it, having a serious staring contest, even though the call had to be answered. The only person with access to that phone was Bane. He'd be calling for a reason, probably to tell us when and where to meet him.
We had important things to do and people to meet.
Gabriel slid his fingers from mine and rose, but he maintained our level stare. I did the same, keeping my hand where he'd left it, watching as he moved toward the kitchen area. We were like two animals backed into a corner, unwilling to bow down to anyone or anything, sizing each other up.
Before he picked up the phone, he severed our mark, returning our emotions to our own bodies. Each one rubber-banded and slammed back into of us. Mine hit me with such force it felt like I'd been professionally bitch-slapped. I almost had to look away from him when the blow landed. I might have had my reasons for lashing out but, boy-oh-boy, I had deserved the stinging correction. I had no one to blame but myself.
No wonder he'd reacted as he had.
He wasn't sure what I'd do when he severed the connection between us. With that much built-up animosity and denial—of the idea, not the man—aimed right back at the source it originated from, the force had the power to send me into a frenzy. I felt shaken and out of my wits.
I took a dee
p breath and tried to calm down.
His reaction wasn't personal.
He closed the mark when we needed to wade through emotions. I'd actually told him to do it more than once. That meant on some level, despite my ill-advised and cold reaction, he maintained common sense, acknowledged my dismay, and wouldn't keep it going regardless of how he felt. I conceded the argument but not the war, lowering my eyes. Unfortunately, when I looked at the food, my appetite vanished.
So much for dinner.
Damn it.
I didn't look up when he took the call but remained aware of everything.
With the mark absent as he departed, I felt so alone.
I heard footsteps heading downstairs as Gabriel spoke to Bane. He sounded calm and level-headed, but I couldn't make out the conversation because I really didn't care to listen. The two of them could have each other, especially right now. At least they wouldn't provoke each other and cause an extinction-level event.
Good God.
I rose, trying to ignore the shaking in my limbs from the wallop of pure adrenaline, and emptied my food into the trash. By the time my dish and utensils hit the sink, I was in control of myself again. We had many amenities, but not a dishwasher. Cleaning dishes after eating kept things tidy and made practical sense, but I wasn't in the mood for domestic chores. I grasped a bottle of water next to the sink, cracked it open, and downed half of it.
I decided to go to the living area where my weapons were stored.
Gabriel told me we needed to get ready, so I'd get ready. I put the bottle on a nearby shelf and went to the costly container holding my deadly and devious devices. The large and heavy weapons chest had been a gift from Paine. He'd had it made. I'd been blown away when it had been delivered to my apartment with a simple note.
* * *
Rhiannon,
Hope you can use this in the years to come.
Talk to you soon.
Paine
* * *
I'd rented a storage space for it right away.
My apartment was located in a decent area, but I didn't want someone to break in and steal it or the other things I needed to survive. With my monthly allowance from Disco, I had the funds to place the chest somewhere safer.
That was the only reason I'd been able to retrieve it.
The outside looked like any other chest. A rectangular object made of wood with a numerical pad. Nothing fancy. The inside, however, was an entirely different matter. He'd had it crafted to hold just about anything, and it was fire and water-resistant. I stroked the top, feeling the grain in the oak, imagining in some way he could feel my touch through the item.
I wish you were here.
I really did miss him.
I punched in the code I'd created, which a person would think was used by intelligent people or absolute morons: one, two, three, and four. When I heard the whoosh that indicated I could lift the lid, I took a moment.
I always opened the chest with reverence.
Paine deserved that much.
As I lifted the top up and away, each weapon seemed to greet me for play. The light shone on them in a way that made them wave and beckon for me to choose them. I pulled the guns out, looking them over, and took measured breaths. The man who'd given me this gift had one request before he crossed—that I watch over his best friend since childhood. The pair had been raised on side-by-side plantations long before I'd been born.
Disco spoke of his childhood fondly, though there was sadness as well.
When the Civil War had come, they'd chosen opposite sides. They met on the battlefield at Cold Harbor. Paine had seen a wounded Gabriel and hadn't hesitated, going to assist his friend. He'd picked him up to carry him to safety. He'd almost made it when a bullet struck him in the back and downed them both. Marius had been tracking Gabriel, trying to ensure his safety at night. That's how he had found the young men—dirty, bloody, and dying, but ready to join each other in death.
He'd changed them together for that reason alone.
I'd probably never understand the bond Paine and Gabriel shared. The love I had for my foster sister, Jennifer, had been intense. Still, I wasn't certain our feelings for each other compared. We had been brought together in unfortunate circumstances and were tormented for years. We didn't have other options or choices. That alone caused us to cling to each other.
It wasn't the same for the men turned vampires.
They'd been through so much in a longer span of time.
That's why Paine had asked such of me.
I wasn't sure I could make the promise before he departed the world, but since I was alive and well, I'd done everything in my power to make it happen.
Gabriel's words came back, humming in my ears.
"You're not being reasonable."
Paine asked a lot of me in watching over his friend, but he wouldn't have forced me to become a vampire. Even if it meant telling his brother-in-blood no.
He believed in fate and choice.
I pictured Paine with his dark shoulder-length hair and obsidian eyes. He'd been light to Disco's dark but, despite his attempt to make it come across otherwise, that had only been in appearance. He might have posed the question to me if he had to, but he'd have chosen his words carefully and left the matter the fuck alone when I refused.
He wouldn't have pushed the issue.
I knew that with certainty because he could have made me stay with him in the future. He could have made decisions that kept me latched to his side—he held the power to do so—but he hadn't. He'd listened to me when I asked him to and, despite him pleading for me to stay and telling me I'd suffer horrifically for messing with destiny, had ultimately let me go.
Look where that put the three of us.
One dead. The other two killing and fighting to survive.
I picked up a gun and almost slammed it down just thinking about it. I got hold of myself before I did, looking at the sidearm before it touched anything but my hand, and carefully placed it on the floor.
Gun safety should always remain a number one priority.
I kept going, talking to myself in my head, an old and bad habit.
Paine and Gabriel were individuals. I had to quit comparing them.
Aware of that, I took proper care as I continued, trying to calm myself by going through repetitive motions. Unfortunately, my mind kept churning, even when I told it to stop, creating a war inside my head. I tried to contemplate doing what Gabriel wanted but couldn't find a way. I didn't want to become like him, but that didn't mean I didn't love him or that I wouldn't die for him.
Gabriel knew how I felt, especially now.
No way he'd missed it the second time.
The sooner he accepted my decision, the better.
Chapter Six
Disco reestablished our connection as soon as he'd gotten off the phone. I'd been relieved when the pull in my chest returned. He hadn't sent any emotions or said anything mentally. He'd merely synced us up to let me know he was there. I'd considered reaching out to him but remained embarrassed after my outburst. I heard the shower going and realized we were definitely going out. I had to finish getting ready. I'd strapped on my holster and was tucking handguns into the sleeves when I heard him coming upstairs.
I kept my back turned when I said, "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault." He shuffled behind me. His right arm looped around my waist and pulled me against him. He was hard where I was soft, his muscles pressing into the giving softness of my flesh. "You're still learning to control emotional pathways. I didn't know you could push mental ones."
Yay me. Another new thing to get used to. "That's what happened?"
"It's not a problem. You're under a lot of strain. That probably triggered it. Just make sure you don't connect raw emotion to a word if you can avoid it." He knew me so well. He was already telling me not to get my panties in a bunch, reminding me everything would be just fine. If I needed his help to control something, he'd make it happen. "It's
rare"—he kissed the back of my head, patted my ass, and let me go—"but so are you."
Alrighty then. If he wasn't worried, I wouldn't be.
I pivoted and watched him take the phone from the counter.
He'd dressed in his nicest clothing for whatever we would be doing. My sex clenched, libido rising once again, my heart racing. God, he really was unfairly good-looking. He made me feel like a scrub. He'd combed his hair, making sure it was styled, and put on a long-sleeved shirt that had been neatly tucked into fitted slacks secured with an expensive belt. The matching jacket hugged his shoulders perfectly. All garments were black as usual, even his fancy shoes.
He hadn't told me what Bane wanted.
I had no idea where we were going or what we were doing.
I peered down at myself. "Should I change?"
"What you're wearing is fine." He stopped looking at the phone, and his gaze darted to me. He looked at my shoulders. Then his eyes flittered to mine. "Will you pull your hair up for me?"
He wanted the mark on my neck visible.
I had one brush in the tiny living area and the other in the bathroom. I retrieved the one two steps away and pulled an elastic band from the handle. I started brushing the long strands to put them into a high ponytail. I styled my hair in the same way often, so taming the mass only took a minute. I turned to him, wanting his approval.
"Better?"
"You're always perfect, but you know I prefer it up when we go out."
Yes, he did. He was possessive like that.
He wanted the bite scar he'd given me when he'd claimed me—which he'd covered in a dark stain of some kind to make it permanent—to be visible to everyone. He'd placed it there to warn every preternatural and supernatural creature I belonged to him and therefore should not be touched or fooled with.
"What are we doing?"
"What we planned earlier, but we're meeting Bane first."