by Dianna Love
“I said come here.” He took her hand and tugged her to his side. She held her body stiffly away from him, but he exerted enough force to pull her into his arms. For a fleeting moment, she continued to resist. Then she leaned into him, her arms going around him in a fierce grip. It made his heart threaten to crack right open.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said.
She sniffled against his chest. Something told him his silk robe was never going to be the same, but he couldn’t care less. Unable to do anything else, he ran his hands over her back soothingly.
“I’m sorry, too,” she mumbled into his chest. “I can’t believe I put you at risk. I just didn’t think.”
“Just so you know, Ainsley, I wasn’t the only one at risk.”
She leaned back in his arms. “But you said I couldn’t become … I don’t understand.”
“I’m not talking about infection, which I assure you is out of the question.”
“Then what?”
“If I’d taken your blood, I might not have stopped in time.”
“What do you mean, in time?”
Her face was wet, her nose was red, and she looked perfectly lovely. He guided her over to the edge of the bed and urged her down on it, then sat down beside her.
“I’ve been celibate a long time.”
“Me, too.”
He laughed.
“What? It’s true. Which you must know, from your very thorough investigation.”
“Not as long as me.”
She lifted a corner of the sheet she was wearing and dabbed at the wetness on her cheeks. “How long are we talking?”
“Let’s just say transfusion medicine was not what it is today the last time I lay with a woman.”
“Omigod. That’s a long time.”
“Indeed.”
“Any particular reason you’ve tied that event to transfusion medicine?”
“You’re very astute.”
“What happened?”
“It had been a long time. Many years, in fact. I lost control, took far too much blood.” He looked down at the carpet. “There was no saving her with the medical science available to me at the time.”
“She died?”
He glanced sideways at her. She’d gone very still. There but for the grace of God go I. He could practically hear the thought. And she was right to think it. He returned his attention to the carpet, where he noticed a long blond hair lodged in the fibers. He resisted the urge to bend and pick it up.
“Delano?”
“She would have died, had I not turned her.”
“Oh, Del. You made her into a vampire?”
“Yes. The one thing I swore I’d never do to another human being. But what choice did I have? It was that or leave her to die. I didn’t even know if it would work, but it was the only way I knew to replace some of the blood she lost. And I knew the healing properties of the vampiric blood would take root quickly, if I could keep her alive long enough.”
“It worked?”
“Spectacularly.” He shot to his feet. “So, now you know.”
Her hand darted out to grab his arm. “Hold it. You said you’d answer all my questions, fully and honestly.”
“I can’t imagine what more you’d want to know about that.”
She arched a brow. “Can’t you?”
He scowled. Dammit, it was times like this he’d trade a decade — hell, a century — to be able to throw back a shot of bourbon and feel it hit his stomach like a fireball, soothing his nerves.
“So, why did it work spectacularly?”
“It takes only a very small amount of blood to do the job. Rule of thumb, 15 ccs will do it. Any more than 25 ccs, you’re asking for trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“The more blood you use, the more powerful the vampire you create will be. And the problem with creating a vampire more powerful than you is that often their first act is to destroy their maker.”
“Was she very powerful?”
“More so than any vampire I’d ever seen, before or since.”
“Did she try to destroy you?”
“No.”
She held his gaze. “But you wished she would have?”
His throat ached, and it had nothing to do with the thirst that was eating him from the inside out. “Yes.”
Her eyes softened. “Did you love her?”
He considered telling her it was none of her business. His promise to answer all questions surely could not be stretched to include this. But somehow, he felt compelled to tell her. Why that should be, he didn’t care to contemplate
So he thought about Reina instead.
“Love her?” He sat back down beside her again on the edge of the bed. “She was intense and sensual and generous and very lovely, but no, I can’t say I loved her. Not in the way you mean. But after that, we were … connected.”
“A blood bond.”
“Well, a bond of sorts, yes.”
“Did she love you?”
“Again, not like you mean. She might have thought so once, but she quickly learned she no longer wanted me. That’s the fate of all vampires — relegated to the dark, lusting only after creatures of the light.”
“And where is she now? Do you still see her?”
“She’s dead.”
At his flat pronouncement, her lips parted on a gasp. “But you said she was very powerful. How … I mean, what happened?”
His gaze rested on her flushed face. No, not flushed. Abraded by his beard stubble. Whisker burned. He looked away.
“Power is no protection from depression. For some, the weight of the years becomes too much. There’s so much change to deal with, yet at the same time, everything remains the same. And so much loss. The years stretch out endlessly. For some, it’s beyond bearing.”
“She took her own life?”
He shrugged. “She stayed up to greet the sunrise.”
She shuddered and he knew she was thinking about what he’d told her. Acute solar uticaria, followed quickly by anaphylactic shock.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.”
“Did she enjoy her life as a vampire?”
He angled a look at her.
“Well, yeah, okay, she committed suicide, so she wasn’t too thrilled with it at the end. But what about before that? Did she hate it? Did she love it, but just got tired?”
Trust Ainsley to ask the hard questions. “She was ambivalent about it. She certainly didn’t abhor what she was. Had she not had a deep fascination with vampires in the first place, she would not have wound up in my bed. And she certainly enjoyed her newfound power. But she didn’t ask for it. She didn’t actively seek the transformation.” He shrugged. “It’s hard to be wholehearted about it if the choice is not freely made.”
“That sounds like personal experience talking.”
“Funny, I thought it sounded like the end of a sad tale.”
“Not quite. I have one more question in that vein before we move on.”
“No pun intended, I’m sure.”
She snorted. “Pure accident, I assure you.”
“Then probe away.”
“Oh, Gawd.” She rolled her eyes. “More phlebotomy humor.”
His gaze fell on her smiling mouth, still swollen from their kisses. Dear heaven, he wanted to kiss her again. And how stupid was that? He’d just laid out very plainly why they couldn’t go there again. Her face sobered, and he realized he was frowning fiercely. He forced his brow to smooth, his jaw to relax.
“Your question?”
“Her name … what was it?”
“You want to know her name? Ainsley, she’s been dead now for decades.”
“Yes, I want to know her name. You’ve been honoring her by telling me her story. Finish the job.”
“Reina. Her name was Reina.”
She took his hand. “Thank you for telling me.”
“You’re welcome. Are we done here?”
“Almost. Just one more question.”
“Just one?”
“Okay, one more line of questioning.”
“Then make it quick. I get cranky if I miss a meal.”
She dropped his hand and jumped up. “Oh, shi … shoot. I forgot. This’ll wait.”
“Just sit down and ask your question, Ainsley. I’m not in any danger of expiring. In fact, I can go several days without sustenance before it really starts to take a toll on anything but my disposition.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.” And a damned good thing, too, since he wasn’t going to be able to take blood for at least 48 hours. Ainsley presumed he could type and crossmatch his supper to avoid ABO incompatibility issues in the event the Merzetti Effect turned out to be sexually transmissible and triggered a reversal. Excellent reasoning. Except his mutation predated the pioneering work of Karl Landsteiner by almost a full century. Like all vampires, he was now effectively AB positive, the universal blood recipient, but God only knew what his original blood type was, pre-mutation.
“Ask your question.”
“You got carried away with Reina because you’d been celibate too long, correct?”
“A long time, yes.”
“But why? I mean, if it’s as wondrous as you say — and I have no doubt it is — why would you cut yourself off from that? From what I’ve observed, you don’t seem to have any particular hang-ups about sex.”
Her voice grew slightly husky as she delivered that last comment, and he almost groaned. Man, he had to get through this and get her out of here before they wound up horizontal on the bed again. Or maybe in some other position…
He cleared his throat. “I married the woman I loved, and wanted no other.”
Her mouth softened. “You stayed true to her until the end?”
“Of course.”
“Even though she aged while you stayed young and virile?”
“When I looked at her, I saw only the woman I married.” He dropped his gaze to contemplate his left hand, which still bore the very slight indentation from the wedding band that now sat in the jewelry box on his dresser, with Gitta’s. Like the length of his hair and the beard stubble on his face, it would persist, no matter what. He could take the scissors to his hair, shave his face clean, and plump that wedding band hollow with collagen, and look like a new man. For a single night. Because with one day’s sleep, all would be restored to its original state.
“To the end, she was beautiful to me. I appreciate that might be hard to comprehend, in a culture bent on turning adults back into teenagers, but it’s the truth.”
She made a little noise, one of those “awwww” sounds that women made when they saw kittens or puppies. “Delano, that’s just about the most wonderful thing I’ve ever heard.”
Wonderful, indeed. He was now on par with a puppy.
He glared at her. “She stood by me when this affliction was foisted on me. The vampress who turned me counted on Margitta rejecting me in horror, but by some miracle she didn’t. You think I’d repay that kind of loyalty with the most base of betrayals?”
“Of course not. She sounds wonderful. I’m sure I would have liked her.”
She would, he realized. And Gitta would have liked Ainsley. The thought was oddly comforting.
“Yes, you would have liked her. Everyone did. She was very strong, and incredibly brave. Can you imagine what courage it took for her to confront what had happened to me? To accept me?”
“It sounds as though she helped you accept yourself.”
“She saved me. Had she turned me away, I think I would have walked out into the next sunrise, to perish.”
Ainsley took his hand. Oddly, he didn’t feel the need to wrench it back.
“But she didn’t turn me away. She sheltered me. She told the townsfolk I suffered debilitating migraines by light of day, allowing me to practice medicine under cover of night. Which in truth suited many of my patients.”
“I can imagine.”
“And she nourished me. Between the blood she freely gave me and the blood I collected from patients seeking venesections, I survived quite handily, without harming a soul.”
“Blood letting! I’ve read about it. Was it as widespread as historical accounts suggest?”
“Fortunately for me, yes. It was especially prevalent among the wealthy, who practiced it as a preventative measure. Of course, it looks barbaric in this day of molecular medicine, but at the time, it reflected medical thinking.”
“So you remained faithful to her until she died?”
“And well beyond.”
“And then?”
“Then I succumbed to the blood lust. When Reina sought me out … well, you know the rest.”
“Omigod!”
“What?”
“She was the first, after your wife died?”
“Yes.”
“And since then?”
“Since then, I keep to myself.”
She leapt up, clapping a hand to her chest to hold the knotted sheet in place. “Delano, you can’t be serious!”
“I warned you I’d win the celibacy contest, hands down.”
“But why? I mean, after that experience, I’m sure you would have exercised better control.”
“Possibly, but I wasn’t prepared to bet an innocent life on it.”
“So, just now…” Her gaze drifted to the bed. “That was the first time since Reina?”
“And it wouldn’t have happened had I not been in the middle of the twilight sleep.”
“Twilight sleep?”
“A transitional stage between the day sleep and full wakefulness.”
“What’s it like?”
“The twilight sleep?”
“The day sleep?”
“I don’t know.”
“How could you not know? You do it every day.”
“It’s like a mini-death. I just … go away. The little I do know about it, I know from attaching electrodes to my own shaven head and recording EEGs.”
She blinked. “Tell me about it.”
“Not much to tell. In the first hours, the cerebrum might as well be switched off, so profound is its state of rest. But somehow, in that SWA state, all the patchwork gets done.”
“SWA? As in slow wave brain activity?”
“Precisely. It’s roughly comparable to your Stage 4 sleep, but we don’t cycle up to REM sleep and back down again through all the stages, as you would do three or four times in the course of the night.”
“What do you mean by patchwork happening? The erasure of the day’s aging?”
“Exactly. But there’s more. If I’ve cut myself, it will heal completely, leaving not the slightest trace. Hell, if I’ve cut my hair, it grows back. Shaved? Back comes the two-day stubble.”
Her jaw dropped. “Really?”
“Really. And let me tell you, it’s an eerie thing to watch at high speed on videotape.”
“Then what?”
“Then nothing, for about five hours. That’s how long we — or least I — stay in SWA. No dreaming, no awareness, no waking. But eventually we surface into something that approximates normal sleep, but it’s not really normal since it’s dominated so heavily by REM sleep. Whereas you might have three or four dreams a night, our dreams are packed into the last hour or two of sleep. At this point, we can be wakened. But as you can imagine, in a secure environment, I’m not accustomed to being roused before I waken naturally. Which is why I presumed you were just a part of my dream.”
“I see. So I take it I must have been a frequent visitor in your other twilight dreams, and you just figured it was more of the same?”
“Guilty.”
“Guilty?” She laughed. “Delano, that’s the last thing you should feel. You hadn’t had sex since when?”
He scowled. “That’s hardly an excuse.”
She refused to be distracted. “Since when?”
He looked at the carpet again. There was that blon
d hair. “1927.”
“1927? Oh, fuck me!”
“I believe I did.”
Chapter 17
DRESSED AGAIN in her t-shirt and shorts, Ainsley stole back to her own rooms. Mercifully, she managed the quick trip without encountering Eli. She couldn’t have dealt with that just yet.
She started the shower running, stripped her clothes off and tossed them in the hamper, then stepped under the hot spray.
Her body still tingled from their lovemaking. And when she closed her eyes to shampoo her hair, images rose to fill her mind. Delano’s dark head at her breast. His head between her thighs, driving her wild with his lips and tongue and fingers. Delano hauling her back up the bed as easily as though she were a rag doll, and God, there was just something so hot about that! His strength, the way he’d taken charge… He’d spread her legs, pushed into her without ceremony, driving her back up again to a third shuddering, helpless climax.
No doubt about it, she’d been well and truly ravished, unable to do much more than just hang on. Passivity was definitely not her usual style in the bedroom, but he’d taken complete control. Of course, he thought he’d been dreaming, and no doubt steered the dream accordingly.
What would it be like if they both went into it with eyes open, consciously choosing to make love?
“Stop it, Ainsley! It’s never going to happen.”
Concentrating on the very excellent reason why they couldn’t indulge in sex again, she stuck her head under the spray and rinsed the shampoo from her hair. Briskly, she rubbed conditioner into the wet strands, resolving not to torture herself anymore.
But when she started to soap her body, more erotic thoughts crowded in. He’d said that if he took her blood, he would feel what she felt, and she would feel what he felt. If he were here right now, in the shower with her, and sank those fangs into her throat, would she be able to feel his intense arousal, amplified a hundred times by the infusion of her blood? And if he were to take the soap from her and run it over her breasts and between her thighs, would he feel the bolts of desire shoot straight to her core? And if she knelt and took his phallus into her mouth while the water beat down on them…
“Argh!”
Rinsing quickly, she shut the shower off, toweled herself dry. Completing the rest of her toilette quickly, she dressed and prepared to go in search of coffee. A glance in the mirror assured her she looked normal. Well, almost normal. She reached for her cosmetic bag and applied some foundation to smooth out a few reddened blotches where his stubble had rasped her smooth skin. There. Much better.