Running provided her only release. Every instinct told her to kill. She wanted to. She wanted nothing more than to rip a man’s throat out. She craved the mess, the gushing blood—the proof of her lack of humanity. The proof of her vampirism. Michael had forsaken her because of it. She might as well relish it.
Except, the desire that urged her to do it was the same one that held her back. He had turned from her. He hated and despised her. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to do that which she knew Michael despised. Not now. Not after he had learned the truth and it had pulled him from her.
“What are you doing?” Amaia felt a flash of irritation at Lawrence’s intrusion into her mind.
“Running.”
“Why?”
How could she answer that? There was no answer.
“Why?”
Or at least, there was no answer she could ever give Lawrence.
“I asked you a question, Amaia.”
His tone brooked no argument. Ignoring him would only cause problems. “Because I want to.”
“You have obligations. You’re booked tonight.”
“Cancel it.”
“Why?”
“Do I need a reason? It’s not as if we need the money.”
“Yes, you need a reason to disobey me.”
Maybe she should go. A rough fuck might be just the thing to clear her mind.
The knot in her stomach tightened.
No, sex wouldn’t help. It would only remind her of him, of the one man she wanted and couldn’t have. The thought of someone else’s hands on her sent her skin crawling.
“I can’t do it. Not tonight. Please, Lawrence. It would only end in disaster.”
“Are you saying you can’t control yourself?”
She hesitated. Control was everything. If she didn’t have that, it would be admitting the ultimate weakness to Lawrence. That was the surest way to rouse his suspicions to an unmanageable level.
“No, of course not. I’m saying I’ve been doing this for over a century and a half now. I deserve a break.”
“Fine. You may take the night off. But I expect you to be ready for your engagement tomorrow night.”
She wouldn’t be ready. There was no possible way for her to be ready to relinquish her obsession. All she could do was fake it.
“Thank you.”
There wasn’t time to think about how she would deal with tomorrow. She was almost to her destination. Her legs slowed, and when she found the familiar tree, she climbed it as nimbly as if she were a cat. At the top, she was just in time to see the last traces of sun disappear below the horizon. As soon as it was out of view, she turned her gaze to the east.
Michael’s window was empty, as it had been the last three nights. A voice in her head insisted that it would remain that way. Nevertheless, calm enfolded her as she watched his window. In a strange twist, her stomach relaxed, and she was at peace. It didn’t matter whether he signaled for her or not: she was where she was meant to be, and there was comfort in that.
Her eyes were locked on his window. As the moon rose higher, Michael entered, bringing with him a light. Watching, she ceased the ruse of breathing. Her heart paused its beating. The stillness of the dead overcame her. Just like the previous nights, he gazed out of the window for a few minutes and then retreated. His light burned for a couple of hours, and then was extinguished. It would be easy to let her hope be extinguished with it. He had made his feelings clear. Just the same, Amaia knew she would be in the same spot the next night, still as death, waiting for the light that would give her life.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Palermo, December 1794, 24 years later
A bird landed on her shoulder, pecked at her neck, and then flew away. Amaia didn’t stir. She was almost a part of the landscape now. Every night found her in the same tree, as motionless as the bark beneath her. Michael’s life had ended without him giving the signal. Still, she had gone every night as soon as she was done with her work. Now she stalked Michelle’s abode.
Amaia’s most recent home had been Paris. Once again, she had haunted the great Notre Dame with Meg and Liam. Even with the turmoil in the city, she still loved it. With Meg’s support, Amaia strove for contentment. Michael had spurned her. Somehow, the fact that he’d made the decision with the truth in hand consoled her. It was what she had wanted, after all, to move on. She pretended to be happy, so well that she sometimes even convinced herself.
Amaia watched the city she most thought of as home succumb to mobs and riots. She had wanted to stay regardless, but the guillotine made the decision for her. Zenas ruled that a systematic method for beheading aristocrats made France too dangerous for vampires. All of his clan was commanded out until some order was restored. He had wanted Amaia in Poland to quash the rebellion against Russian rule. He liked Empress Catherine and wasn’t happy with the revolt, but Amaia was too familiar in Catherine’s court to be of use. With no need for her anywhere, Lawrence allowed her to pick their next destination. And that was how she ended up in Palermo, the same city Michael—who had returned as Michelle—inhabited.
Amaia watched through the window as Michelle repaired a shirt collar. She worked with her mother as a seamstress in her home outside the city. Often, she worked until there was not enough light and then resumed once the sun appeared. Michelle set her sewing aside and came to the window. Amaia’s hand tightened around the branch as she leaned forward. This wasn’t a new development. Michelle often gazed out of the window before retiring. Seeing her served only to make Amaia want her more. Her delicate features were framed by raven hair that brought out the paleness of her eyes. Her plain brown dress couldn’t hide her beauty. No matter how long she stood at the window, it wouldn’t be long enough. And when she retreated, leaving the window bare, Amaia would feel empty.
Michelle turned away. Tonight’s window gazing had been shorter than usual. Still, Amaia would sit and wait until the rays of the sun signaled the end of her vigil.
She saw movement at the window.
Two lit candles moved to the sill.
Amaia flew.
She leapt to the ground and easily scaled the house. When she tapped on the window, Michelle jumped from where she sat with her back toward Amaia. Her head snapped around, and her eyes widened.
She opened the window and held out a hand to help Amaia inside. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”
Amaia accepted the hand. She tried to calm the swell of hope in her breast at the feel of Michelle’s skin against hers. “I told you I’d be watching.”
“Yes, I suppose this will take some getting used to.” Michelle sat in her bare wooden rocking chair and gestured for Amaia to take a seat in the chair opposite her.
Amaia sat, but she couldn’t relax. “You wanted to see me?”
Michelle took a deep breath. “Yes. I wanted to tell you that I forgive you.” They locked eyes, and Amaia’s limbs relaxed slightly. This was what she had craved. Michelle broke the stare first. “I couldn’t in my last life. I felt too betrayed, deceived. Time has given me some perspective. I’ve been able to think it over, and I know now that this was all Lawrence’s doing. I never trusted him, not from the beginning. Any man who would exploit you the way he did couldn’t be trusted.”
“What made you change your mind? Whether Lawrence did this or not, the fact still remains that I’m a vampire.”
“I realized that I was blaming the victim.”
Amaia couldn’t help the puzzled twitch of her face. “Michelle, I’m not a victim.”
“Michelle?”
Amaia didn’t know her birth name. “I’m sorry. I call you Michelle in my head when you’re a woman.”
Michelle smirked and nodded. “That makes sense. I like it.”
“I’m glad. But Michelle, I’m not a victim.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not. I chose this.” Amaia didn’t know why she contradicted her. Michelle had forgiven her, had accepted her. Why ruin
it? Because, if Michelle didn’t want the real her, then it was all just a façade. At this point, Michelle either needed to accept her for who she was, or there was no future for them. It would be easier to face the truth now than draw it out in degrees.
“How could you choose it?”
“Lawrence asked me if I wanted to join him. I did. I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of you. What do you think? You proposed to me. You were going to take me away from the world I knew, and I was letting you.” Amaia touched her hand to her chest, feeling an echo of the pain she had felt during her mortal life. “Do you know how difficult that was for me?”
“Yes, Amaia, I do. Even more so now that I’ve lived as a woman. But we dealt with those issues.”
“Yes, you were able to assuage my fears for a time, but they were always present. Lawrence offered me a chance to be strong, to live forever, to never have to be weak. I already feared losing you—”
“So you decided to break from me permanently?” Michelle shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I had thought you would join me. Lawrence said if you really loved me, you would agree to be turned as well, and we could live together for eternity. Nothing could possibly have made me happier. But if you turned me down, then I would know you didn’t really love me, and I would know I had made the right decision. I would have given up my mortal weakness for eternal strength.”
“You had Lawrence turn you into a vampire because you didn’t trust my love for you?” Michelle’s voice dipped low as if trying to mask the hurt.
“That’s not fair, Michelle. I was protecting myself.”
“You wanted this?” Her disbelief was unmistakable.
“Yes. I told you: I’m not a victim. I love being a vampire.”
“Of course you love eternal life, but is it worth the price?”
“What price?”
Michelle huffed, as if it should be obvious. “Your humanity. Having to subsist off of blood.”
“You don’t understand.” Amaia leaned forward. “Those are the things I love. I love drinking human blood. I don’t miss my humanity because I despise it in humans. I love killing.”
“I can’t believe you’re capable of killing someone. It’s not possible.” Michelle leaned back, shaking her head.
“I killed you.”
“That’s different. You weren’t in control of yourself. I could see it in your eyes. They looked the same as someone who has been driven mad by fever.”
“That may be true. The circumstances were different than my other kills, but not my enjoyment. In fact, out of all of my kills, yours was the most enjoyable. Sometimes, I feel like I’ve spent the rest of my life chasing the high I felt from killing you.”
Michelle paled. “I refuse to believe it.”
Amaia shrugged. “That doesn’t surprise me. You also refuse to believe that there is no god. I hate humans, Michelle. Killing them is a joy.”
“You love me though.” Her voice was sure. Amaia wished she could have that strength of belief.
“It’s not the same for me. You don’t understand.”
Michelle leaned forward, so far that her hair curtained them. “Teach me.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Palermo, December 1794
Amaia found something adorable about the way Michelle slept. During the day, she was a confident, self-assured woman. As Amaia had observed, hers was the coolest head in any heated situation. In sleep, she was the same. Looking at her, one couldn’t help being struck with the distinct feeling that she meant to be sleeping in just that way and anyone who woke her would be interrupting the natural flow of life.
They had stayed up talking for hours until Michelle finally succumbed to sleep. Amaia had tried to convince her there was no reason for Michelle to love her, and Michelle had tried to convince her that she couldn’t keep living without her. Neither had been successful.
Michelle’s eyes opened. She didn’t yawn or stretch. Somehow, her body had decided it was time to be up, and so she was. “You’re still here.”
Amaia’s chest contracted. Had she misjudged the situation? “Did you want me to leave?”
“No, I’m glad you’re here, just surprised.”
“Well, you said you wanted to learn. I have the time today if you’d like to spend it together.”
“I thought vampires couldn’t be out in daytime.”
Amaia twisted her face, tilting her head as she peered at Michelle. “I’ve been out during the day with you many times.”
Michelle shook her head. “I know. It’s just strange now, knowing what you are.”
“Nothing’s changed. Your knowledge of the truth doesn’t alter reality.”
“You know, you could be gentle with me. This isn’t something I had ever anticipated. It’s going to take some getting used to, some adjusting. I need your patience and help.”
Amaia sat next to her on the bed. “I suppose that’s fair. After all, I believe you were quite patient with me when we were first together.” She tentatively placed her hand on the side of Michelle’s face. For the first time since she had learned how to warm her skin, she purposely left it natural when she touched Michelle.
“You’re cold.”
“I’m always cold. I’m dead.”
“But you’re so alive.” Her gaze was fervent as her hands traced Amaia’s features.
“It’s stolen life that comes from the blood I drink. Other people’s lives flow through me.”
“You don’t find it strange that you expect me to grasp that, but you find it ludicrous that I think you can’t be in daylight?”
Amaia snorted. “I see your point. We don’t like being in the sun. The heat does not bode well for us. Remember, we can’t sweat, so we don’t have a natural cooling system in place. Plus, heat does terrible things to the stench of humans. Not to mention it’s easier for us to blend in at night.”
“I thought you liked the smell of humans.”
“No, only their blood.” Michelle’s face turned a shade of gray that matched her eyes. “If you want to know the truth, I’m going to tell you. I won’t hold anything back.”
Michelle nodded, and the color returned to her cheeks. “Good. I don’t want you to.” Michelle rose and dressed. Amaia helped, not bothering to slow her movements.
“How can you move so quickly?”
Amaia shrugged. “I just can. The real trick is moving slowly like a human.”
“I wish I could move that fast.” The little bit of mirth in her eyes couldn’t hide that Michelle didn’t think it was a fair tradeoff—mortality for blinding speed. “Where to now?”
“Well, if this were any other day, I’d probably be engaging in my secondary profession about now.”
“And what is that?”
“Fortune-telling.”
Michelle’s lips pursed. “You tell fortunes?”
“Yes. It’s something of a hobby of mine.”
“And you take money for it?”
“It’s the only way to get people to take you seriously.”
“But you’re lying to them.”
Amaia cocked her head at Michelle. “So?”
“Amaia, it’s wrong.”
“According to you. I do nothing more than tell them what they want to hear. If anything, I help them live their lives. I don’t see it as any different from what priests do.”
“It’s dishonest.”
“Let me get this straight. You know the true nature of what I am, that I kill people and enjoy it, that I’m a courtesan, but it’s my fortune-telling that upsets you?”
“The other upsets me too, but it’s too foreign. My head can’t comprehend it. Fortune-telling, though, I know you’d be good at.” A gleam of admiration lit her eyes.
“You want to watch?”
•••
“All right, only time for one more. Give me your hand.” Amaia reached for Michelle’s hand.
“No, I do
n’t think so.”
“Don’t be a killjoy. I won’t even charge you.”
Michelle smiled. “Fine. Should I ask you a question?”
“No, I’ll read your palm.” Amaia took Michelle’s hand and bent over it, tilting it slightly from side to side to catch the light, making a show of finding each individual line. “You will live a long and healthful life. A rich man will see your beautiful eyes one day when you’re out walking, and he’ll fall in love with you. After a whirlwind courtship, the two of you will be married. A child will follow in the first year. You’ll have five children, sons and daughters. They will fill you with pride and give you grandchildren. You’ll die an old gray woman, warm in your bed, your husband faithfully by your side.” Amaia set Michelle’s hand down and met her eyes.
After a moment, Michelle spoke. “You’re good. You almost had me believing you.”
“Almost?”
The only answer Michelle gave was a pointed stare.
Amaia heaved a dramatic sigh. “See, I told you. No one ever believes me when it’s free.”
Michelle softly laughed. “That must be it. Now tell me, which one is the fate line?”
“This one here.” Amaia pointed to one of the lines intersecting Michelle’s palm.
“Let me see yours.” Michelle turned Amaia’s palm up and traced her fate line. “The scar’s barely visible.”
“I told you it would blend in with the line. Besides, you didn’t want it to scar. The whole thing was silly anyway.”
“Not to me. I always considered that blood oath the strongest bond we made, much more so than the ring I gave you with the promise of marriage.”
Michelle’s eyes were rich with feeling. Amaia didn’t want to think of the promises they’d made to each other. What did they know back then? Nothing. Amaia pulled her hand away. “Well, at least I was able to keep the ring, though it’s seen its share of repairs.”
Haunting Echoes Page 18