Really not a sight Mac had imagined as a first-date memory. “But...”
“I’ll take her home.” Caravelli fixed him with his amber eyes. They flashed in the distant light of a passing car, setting the hairs on Mac’s neck on end. “She’s not herself right now. She won’t be until she sleeps this off and feeds again. There’s no point in seeing her like this. She won’t thank you for it.”
“My place is with her.”
“Trust me. I’ll make sure she gets what she needs.”
Mac knew what he meant. More blood. Human blood— this time from a willing donor.
“Come to our house late tomorrow night. She’ll be ready to see you by then.”
Mac nodded, feeling awkward. Every cell in his body wanted to keep her for his own, to push Caravelli aside and drag her away. Yeah, that would be really useful. Grow up, demon boy.
Caravelli stroked Constance’s head with a fatherly gesture. Mac stifled a possessive growl.
“It’s all right, Macmillan. She’ll be safe with me.”
Mac sighed inwardly. Take a girl out, and she ends up drinking some other guy’s blood. The important thing was that she had the help she needed. This wasn’t about his needs.
He still wanted to throw a tantrum. He’d given Constance a dress. Caravelli was giving her life.
Real life makes more life, Atreus had said. My creations can only hold the limited strength of my sorcery.
And then, like random lightning, what Connie had said struck him: Atreus had made a woman from the Castle’s Avatar, robbing its magic.
Mac had heard Atreus claim to have killed her. The sorcerer also said that the Castle had been crumbling for sixteen years. Atreus had taken in a foundling sixteen years ago.
Holy bat-boy! Sylvius was the Avatar’s child. Atreus hadn’t killed her—she’d died in childbirth. My creations can only hold the limited strength of my sorcery. Once the baby was born, there was no life left for her.
The Castle was failing because Sylvius lived.
What does that mean?
It meant he finally had an insight into the whole insane Castle puzzle. It had taken the sight of Caravelli doing the vampire sire biz—giving some of his Undead life to save Connie—to make the connection. Like it or not, Mac had work to do.
Feeling dismal, Mac got up, touching Connie’s shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Caravelli nodded, but didn’t reply. Connie didn’t respond at all.
Mac had barely gone a dozen paces before he looked back to see the two vampires huddled together in the small, urban graveyard. The headstones were a wash of grays under the streetlights, graffiti like sprawling spiderwebs across the granite humps.
He turned away, walked a little. He passed one that read: LOVE SUX!
Got that one right.
Chapter 22
October 9, 7:00p.m. 101.5 FM
“Good evening to all you children of the night out there in radio land. This is Errata, your hostess from CSUP, the FM station that denies and defies the normal in paranormal. Tonight our special guest is Dr. Gaylen Hooper, Executive Director of Harvest House, a transitional facility for those who have, for one reason or another, moved from one species to another.”
“Good evening, Errata.”
“Now, Dr. Hooper, there are those who insist that transitioning is impossible and that denying your original form is at best wishful thinking and at worst an immoral act. How do you respond to that?”
“You mean those people who say that if you really, really try hard, you’ll suck in those fangs and go back to being a good little human?”
“Why, Dr. Hooper, don’t you buy into the power of positive thinking?”
Mac eyed the big purple and yellow Victorian with a cautious eye. The last time I was here, the house sucked me out like a spider up a vacuum cleaner hose. Then the garden tried to kill me. Of course, I was trying to eat Holly’s soul at the time.
He wondered whether the house would notice—or care—that he wasn’t a soul eater anymore. He was still a demon.
Mac unfolded himself from his car, an old black two-door Mustang he’d finally gotten back on the road that afternoon. He reached into the backseat, picked up the bouquet of roses and carnations he’d brought, then slammed the door, enjoying its solid sound. He’d missed his car.
He climbed the stairs to the porch and rang the bell. His shoulders hunched, feeling the house watching him.
Caravelli answered. “Come in.”
Mac stepped over the threshold. The door closed behind him of its own accord. He had an irrational urge to shoot it.
“It took me a long time to get used to that,” Caravelli said.
It was the first time since Mac had gotten back to Fair-view that he’d seen Caravelli in decent lighting. For a vampire, he looked pretty healthy these days—more pale than pasty. He also seemed to be doing more breathing than most vamps. Interesting.
He’d heard about Holly putting some magical whammy on him, bringing to life the legend of the Chosen that gave a vampire the power to exist on sexual energy rather than blood. Forced to have sex on a regular basis. Doctor’s orders. Lucky bastard. “How’s Connie doing?”
Caravelli waved him into the living room. “She’s well. Holly is with her.”
“Isn’t that risky? For Holly, I mean?”
“Holly has enough magic to control a newly made fledgling. Sit down a moment.” He caught Mac’s expression. “This won’t take long.”
Mac complied, setting his flowers on the coffee table. The living room was old-fashioned, with shelves of books reaching the ceiling and dark brass floor lamps with silk shades. “What’s up?”
“Lore came to see me. He told me why the hellhounds have been so lax about their duties. I could have broken his neck for not speaking to me sooner, but I understand his motivation.”
Mac smirked. “You tore him a new one?”
“Only verbally. Once I ran out of breath, he asked for my help with the council as coolly as if I’d been giving a weather report. He said he also asked you.”
“He did. I think we—you—need to convene a council meeting. I’ll be there to speak for him.”
Caravelli leaned back, stretching out his long legs. “Gathering the leaders is something I would only do in a, dire emergency. I wonder if there’s an easier way to address this.”
“It’s not just the hellhounds we have to worry about. The Castle as a whole is failing.” Mac told him what he had found out about the Avatar and Sylvius.
“Sylvius,” Caravelli mused. “The name fits for a creature born from the natural world of the Castle. The same root word as ‘sylvan’—something that comes from the woods.”
“An incubus born of a love slave. Sounds like soft porn.”
Caravelli snorted. “Sounds perverted. We all want to possess our lovers, but it’s quite another thing to actually force one into being and then lock her up.”
Mac sat forward. “There’s more. I talked to Lore after I left you last night. He’s been trying to tell me all about this hellhound prophecy for days. He took me to one of their elders.”
“Really? Nobody speaks to them.”
“Well, he talked to Lore and Lore talked to me.”
“What did he say?”
“They think I have something to do with this prophecy. Mumbo-jumbo aside, here’s the facts. There’s a ritual to return the blood of the Avatar to the Castle. The guardsmen have somehow put their hands on the instructions.”
“What does returning the blood to the Castle involve?”
“Sacrifice.” Mac went stone cold as he said it. “Of the Avatar’s son.”
Caravelli looked stunned. “What? Is that what the guardsmen really wanted with Sylvius in the first place?”
“I think that’s what Bran and his supporters want. Others simply want a hit of incubus blood. They’ve been there so long they don’t care if the Castle falls down.”
“And the prophecy?”
�
��The Castle made me a demon so that I can put everything back to the way it was before Atreus started messing around.”
The vampire’s face was growing more and more drawn. “Do you think that’s true?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think or how I feel. People are going to die if the prison collapses.”
“Where does that leave the boy?”
“I know. Kill Sylvius, or let the Castle fall.”
Caravelli was silent a moment. “Merda.”
Mac grimaced. “I’m not killing the kid.”
The vampire lifted a brow. “I’d say that was a given.”
“I tried talking him into leaving—I mean, I had to tell him. He had a right to know. But he won’t budge. He’s afraid if he goes, the Castle goes.”
“Is that so bad? How many residents could we rescue?”
“Even if we rescued every last hellhound, thousands of people live in there, and most of them aren’t safe to let out.”
Caravelli sighed. “Yes, it’s time we gathered the council.”
Mac felt a sudden pang of doubt. “They never agree on anything. Think a big old group hug will work?”
“We’ll find out.” Caravelli stood. “I still have Queen Omara’s ear, and the fact I have a fledgling—that there is now a Clan Caravelli—will help my standing among the Undead.”
Inside Mac, the demon stirred, his skin flaring with heat. “What does being part of your clan mean for Connie?” She’s mine. You can’t have her.
Caravelli gave a smile calculated to turn even a demon’s blood to ice. “Everything, but I have no intention of choosing her lovers. She’s a woman, not a child. Nevertheless, I’m here to help her, and I’ll break your neck if you hurt her. I am her kin now.”
The warning hung like smoke in the air. Mac bared his teeth. In-laws. Great. “I want to see her. Now.”
With a half smile, Caravelli stepped back and made a graceful sweep with his arm. “She’s in one of the guest rooms upstairs. Follow me.”
He did, his bouquet in hand. They passed through the messy kitchen—Mac remembered once cooking a meal for Holly there—and crossed to the large curved stairway that wound to the upper floors.
Caravelli turned. “You understand she was not a true vampire before.”
“Yes.” But I’m not sure what you’re getting at. “Good.” Caravelli started up the oak steps, his feet noiseless on the patterned runner that carpeted the stairs.
They passed the second floor, going all the way up to the third. A stained glass window looked out from the landing, the colors dark against the night sky beyond. They walked down the hall, dark wainscoting emphasizing the gloom. The only light was the faint glow from a couple of wall sconces made to look like candles. Everything in the old house looked straight out of a Victorian novel, down to a landscape painting of what looked to Mac like hairy cows standing in a marsh.
It was a long hallway and most of the heavy paneled doors were shut, adding to the claustrophobic feel. Mac wanted to bolt for bright lights and freedom. “It’s kind of dark.”
Caravelli gave him an amused glance. “New vampires are particularly sensitive to noise and light. It was more comfortable for her to rest up here, where there’s little commotion.”
They stopped at the end of the hallway. Alessandro tapped lightly on the last door to the left. After a moment, it opened and Holly stepped out. “Hi.”
She had a notebook under her arm. Studying again, Mac supposed. He looked past her, catching a glimpse of more wainscoting and pale flowered wallpaper. There was a bed in the room, covered with a white spread. Connie sat on the edge, her back to the doorway.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Not bad, I guess.” Holly smiled at Mac. “I’m glad you came. The flowers are a nice touch.”
“The least I can do.”
Holly turned to her lover. “Look, I’m going up to the hospital. They’re going to be releasing Ashe tomorrow, and I want to make sure she has everything she needs. She insists on staying at the motel.”
Much to everyone’s relief, I’ll bet. Still, Mac was glad to hear she was recovering.
Caravelli ran the back of his fingers down Holly’s arm. “So she’s capable of common sense, at least.”
Holly made a resigned face and headed for the stairs.
Caravelli followed. “If you need me, I’ll be in the living room.”
“Sure,” said Mac. He had flowers, a car, and the vampire dad’s permission. For a demon, he felt very teenaged all of a sudden. He walked into the bedroom.
Warm, dry air tickled his throat. The old, ornate radiator must have been cranked on high. The overhead light was off, only a couple of hobnail glass lamps switched on low. Constance turned, and Mac nearly dropped the bouquet. He could just see her profile, the long, dark hair tucked behind one ear, but it was enough to see how much she had changed. She had been pale before, but now the luminous pallor of the Undead showed off her dramatic coloring.
“Hello,” he said.
Her beauty reminded Mac of the diamonds of ice that sparkled from the crust of hard, northern snow. From Snow White to the Snow Queen. Here was a whole new challenge. He felt his skin growing hot with arousal.
“Mac.” She rose, and turned to face him.
She wore a dark sweater and broomstick skirt, probably Holly’s. Mac looked into her eyes. They were still blue, but now they held an unsettling silvery cast. Vampire eyes were like that, flashing silver or gold as the light caught them. The only thing human about her was her expression. It was filled with guilt.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I thought I could hold myself back.”
Mac handed her the flowers. She cradled them, like one would a baby, bending her head to sniff the blooms. Her hair fell, hiding her face.
“It’s all right,” he replied. “I’m sorry, too.”
She set the flowers aside on the top of an antique dresser. They looked at each other for a long moment, not sure what to say.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
The skin around her eyes contracted. “Hungry. Always hungry. Alessandro says it gets much easier in time.”
God, she’s so beautiful. His palms were starting to sweat. “First dates are always kind of awkward. If you survive that one, the next is always better.”
She gave a slight smile. Her fangs were more pronounced than before, but still slender. Feminine. Lowering her lashes, she tilted her face to the side. Then something in her face changed, a new emotion spreading over her features like a drop of ink bleeding through water.
It was anger.
“You promised you would keep me from hurting someone. You said everything would be all right.” Her voice was hoarse, and he heard grief in it.
The words speared him so hard, his chest actually hurt. “I know I did, Connie. I know.”
He clenched his fists, wishing guilt was something he could wrestle with, use his huge strength to crush. “I screwed up. I’m so sorry. I didn’t understand the risk we were taking. I don’t know as much about vampires as I thought I did. And that cost you.”
“You were supposed to protect me.” She covered her mouth with her hand, as if to stop herself from saying anything more.
The sight of that gesture was painful, because he understood. Gently, slowly, Mac took her hand in his, moving it away from her face. “Speak out if you want to. I deserve that anger.”
She hiccupped, swallowing down unshed tears. Her mouth twitched, fighting to keep from crumpling. “What would you have me do? Swear at you? Tear out your eyes?”
“You have that right.”
She turned her face away, obviously embarrassed, but he took her shoulders, turning her body to face his. He lifted her chin until she looked at him. “I’d draw the line at the clawing out the eyes thing, but if it’ll help you forgive me, you can do the rest. I’m not your lord and master. Go ahead and kick my ass if it needs it. You’re a vamp now. You could make it hurt.”
She almost laughed, but it came out in another hiccup. “You really didn’t know what would happen?” she asked in a small voice.
“Not like that. I made a mistake. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
She seemed to deflate, all the anger leaking away.
“Forgive you?” She looked up at him, her silvery blue eyes wild with sorrow. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d stayed away.... I’ve become a true monster.”
He drew her nearer. Perfectly still, she stayed coiled and tense as he put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re mine,” he said simply. “As in the woman I adore. I’m not going anywhere, if you’ll have me.”
As if the weight of his hands was too much, she sank onto the edge of the bed, never taking her eyes from his face. Mac sat down next to her. The old double mattress sagged under his weight.
“I’m cold all the time now,” she said, hugging herself. “Worse than before. I feel like I’ve been back in my grave.”
He put his arm around her, holding her close, wrapping her in his demon heat. She burrowed her face against his chest as if she could somehow merge their bodies.
“It’s not enough,” she said.
He pulled off his sports jacket and folded it around her, the heavy wool engulfing her tiny frame. She shivered in his arms, winding her arms around his neck. “I want to lie with you. I want you, Mac. It’s as bad as the hunger.”
“Um, no red-blooded man says no, but this isn’t our house.”
“I don’t care,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. “It’s the only thing that’s going to make me warm.”
Putting words to actions, she shrugged off the jacket and pulled away from him, dragging the long-sleeved sweater over her head. Her hair swished around her shoulders, draping over the lacey mounds of her bra. She still wore the same one Mac had bought for her. That he had wanted so much to see her in last night. Oh, yeah.
Forget better judgment. He pulled off his turtleneck and pulled her down on the bed to lie against his chest, cradling her against him. She smelled of fancy soap—something fruity.
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