Nadia said that Lance had helped her after her family had been killed. If that was true, she and Nadia had something in common. So, where had Lance, or someone like him, been when she’d been in need? She could have used some kindness back then, as her parents lay dying. Maybe help would have saved her from the fires of hell.
Maybe. Still, help from a vampire was a laughable thought. She’d digressed into believing him capable of kindness. The truth was that she’d have tried to cut off his limbs if they’d met before, for being one of the creatures that had taken her family from her. It would have been guilt by species.
And she had crawled up from that pit all by herself, in the end.
“We’re alone,” she observed, nervously angling her body toward her host. “Isn’t that a surprise?”
“It’s best not to dwell on the past. Nadia has been through enough already. And she is busy with other things tonight.”
“Fine. Then let’s get to it, shall we?” Jesse pulled herself straighter, feeling the cool butt of the gun in her fingers, as she thought …
Showtime.
The hybrid’s next statement kept Lance’s boots nailed to the floor.
“You can’t make me believe you have a soul,” she said. “Yours has been surrendered. No soul, no conscience. Therefore, saying you want to help me is a crock.”
After absorbing the shock of the vehemence in her tone, Lance rounded the couch, stopping just short of touching distance from her. “Are we to discuss theology?”
“No,” she replied. “I’m sure you’ve had a long time to perfect the explanation.”
“I have a soul,” he said.
“You aren’t alive. You’re broken. Corroded.”
Jesse’s face drained of the becoming pink flush after the several seconds it took for her to realize he was holding her hand. She tried to pull away. Gripping her wrist tightly, waiting until she stopped struggling, Lance opened her fingers, uncurling them slowly with his own. His body reacted as if this were indeed the first time he had ever touched a woman. The current in the air around them pulsed with wayward electricity. Lightning again, searching for ground.
He pressed her flat palm to his chest, above and to the left of his rib cage. “Do you not feel it beating?”
She didn’t answer, overcome with the surprise of finding the unexpected. In those silent seconds, as each stroke of his heart transferred to her palm, she lost more color, went whiter.
“Broken, perhaps,” he conceded, keeping her there, forcing her to confront her fears. “But not soulless. Nor heartless.” He leaned down to look into her face. “Not without conscience.”
Her attention was on his hand, on top of hers, pressed to his chest, and she was the breathless one now.
“I am not like the others,” he repeated. “Similar only in that I once drank the blood of my maker in order to become what I am.”
“Vampire,” she whispered.
“Guardian. A being apart. Destined to remain outside the whole because of those differences in my blood.”
“All that Guardian business aside, you admit that you drink blood.” Her voice was quieter, and riddled with panic that tasted to him like rusted iron.
“Only once have I drunk from another being, and then only to fulfill a vow,” he said.
“And now?”
“I exist on the flesh of the animals Nadia also needs to eat. I do not require blood. Rarely do I crave it.”
“Require. Rarely.” Only he could have heard her. “The craving exists.”
“Thirst is always present,” he admitted, realizing he’d just told this woman more than he’d ever dared to tell anyone. Not even to Nadia had he exposed what was left of his soul. He hadn’t been positive he had a soul until … Jesse. He wasn’t completely sure that acknowledgment of its existence was a good thing.
“I have,” he said, “long ago learned to exist without the things I cannot have.”
Exist. He had not said “live” because Jesse would have argued that point and been right. The differences were subtle to an outsider. However, this outsider needed to see the light if she hoped to survive. She needed the ability to adapt, and had to start by overcoming her prejudices.
Her pallor was already a concern. Jesse was thinking back to the night she’d encountered the others and had witnessed death, firsthand. He could see the wheels of her mind turning.
It was understandable that she didn’t believe or trust him. He’d seen the carnage that had once been her family. But in this instance, he had to convince her to pay attention. The problem was getting her to believe him without telling her about herself—a thing he couldn’t yet do, since speaking those words would alter her life forever.
“My heart aches for Elizabeth Jorgensen, as yours does. My heart aches for you,” he confessed.
“How does your ache feel?”
Her arm was taut to the point of strain, her fingers again beginning to curl against his shirt, recoiling from her discovery.
“Why does a vampire care anything for Elizabeth? What would you know of loss and longing?” she demanded.
“More than you might imagine,” he said. “I’ve been walking this earth longer than you have, and have seen my share of loved ones come and go.”
She stopped tugging at her hand, recognizing the truth in his remark. Her latest blood gift, paired with this closeness, was indeed opening up her senses. He knew something else through this touch. Jesse was attracted to him, and had been from her first sighting. She hated that realization as much as he was titillated by it.
Blood to blood, Jesse. No escape.
As he watched, she took in and held a troubled breath, trying to assimilate, draw lines, put the puzzle together without having the right pieces at her disposal. Lance saw by her expression that she was coming up empty-handed.
“I was mortal once,” he said. “As were the rest of your monsters. I am removed from some of that humanness, but not from all. Not nearly as much as the others. I breathe, but not to survive. My heart beats only as a frank reminder of the parts of my past life that remain. I did not leave my emotions behind when I—”
“Died?” she finished for him. “You did die?”
He nodded. “I died to this world and was reborn to another.”
“Just like the others have died and then stuck around.”
He was trying to make her see, when all Jesse knew was pain. She used the darkness at her core to fuel the anger and strength needed to get her through life day by day. She focused on challenge, needed challenge. She trusted no one.
But she saw herself as one thing, when she was another. It was a flaw she remained ignorant of.
“Not like them,” he said. “My transition was peaceful, willful, invited, accepted. I was chosen to fulfill my new role. I knew what I was to become.”
His hybrid almost looked up again. Lance withheld the silent command for her to complete that gaze, though his heart thundered for want of it, as did hers. She was fighting the attraction. Fighting the truth.
She yanked her fingers from beneath his. “I’ve seen what you can do,” she said.
Her voice was a rasping exhalation that moved the hair near his temple, as warm and as fragrant as he had remembered. It took that one thing for him to acknowledge how close he’d gotten to her as he allowed her scent to wash over him, knowing the exact second he truly was lost …
Lost to the plight of the wounded dove. His dove. She might never be fully healed or whole again, he knew. You couldn’t take the loss of innocence back, but you could try to offer consolation.
He was going to help her, knowing full well his attachment to Jesse went beyond being her partner. His blood demanded more. His thirst for her was a gnawing nightmare. The throb in Jesse’s neck, mirroring each erratic beat of her heart, sang to him, inviting him closer, filling his own hollow chest with a hope that felt curiously close to redemption.
Guardian. Lance silently repeated the word that defined his existence. His
task wasn’t to guard the mortals, but to guard the blood. Protecting humans had been a side effect of his task. Protecting the blood, keeping it, preserving it, ensuring its survival, had been the original objective he had modified for his own purposes.
He was a vessel. No longer a man as the living humans defined it. He was a walking, talking, receptacle for the purest form of vampirism. He had agreed to this, swearing to protect what he carried. The only way for him to turn from his task would be to empty his veins completely. Slit his wrists, let the crimson fire flow out, and fade away.
He had once considered doing just such a thing. Some time ago, he had begun to wonder why the ancient blood had to be preserved, and for what purpose. The sheer number of creatures with diluted fluid in their bodies struck him as a slap in the face to his cause. Hidden away, as he had been for a while, he had become useless, directionless.
But he was needed now. Jesse’s presence reminded him of this.
Sensing her scrutiny, Lance shook off the plaguing thoughts. Of importance here was that he had passed some of that ancient blood to her. He had contributed to the darkness she harbored, albeit unknowingly. Therefore, he was guilty of the same sort of road toward dilution that he loathed in others—though he’d had the sense not to turn Jesse. She still functioned as a human being, if a messed-up one. It was too late to turn back time in order to reshuffle the options.
What was done, was done. If Jesse’s darkness went away, if the will to fight was taken from her, the void might be filled with something else. Something better, or worse. Revealing the truth about the particles in her blood would spiral her toward a new future.
As God was his witness, he didn’t understand why he had feelings for the woman, but had no idea how to let her go. It wasn’t possible for him to ignore his own reawakening. Giving Jesse more of himself could very well help her to get the missing American girl back, and it might be the only way she’d survive the task. But telling Jesse everything would ensure her departure, for good.
Selfish. The word taunted him. Jesse deserved to be allowed to live or die as she chose. He should not interfere more than he already had. But in all truth, it was doubtful he’d survive another hundred years of solitude after seeing her again.
You have to be given the option to decide your fate, as I did, Jesse. I must allow this.
Stepping closer to her was automatic, a defiant act over thoughts of sending her away. In actuality, Jesse had nowhere to go at the moment. Her back was to the wall. He stood in the way of her escape.
Mere inches separated their bodies. If he stepped aside, she’d run. But which way? Toward America? Obstinately toward the senator’s daughter? There was only one way to find out. In either case, he felt as if he had already doomed her. He had only seconds more with Jesse Stewart, when for once in his long-endured existence, he needed so much more time.
Tilting her chin up with his fingers, Lance spoke softly to make his words all the clearer. “You are right, Jesse,” he said. “We have met before. And I’ve never forgotten you.”
Chapter 12
His statement made no sense to Jesse. Of course they’d met before, three times now on proper footing and once from the air. This third time was definitely the charm. She felt the rug being yanked out from under her. Lance … this creature … was again too damn close for her health.
“Do you think I’ve lost it completely? That I’m not prepared to shoot your elegant hide if you don’t hurry up and give me what I’ve come here for?” she warned.
Her fingers were glued to the handle of her gun. Everywhere else, her muscles were seizing. She didn’t like this, saw no other choice but to threaten, if he had information she needed.
Is that the only reason I haven’t budged?
The question nudged at her awareness as his scent curled into her with each new breath she took. He smelled inexplicably of light. His scent was smoky on her tongue, and in her mouth. But beneath those things lay the tinny taste of aluminum, and she knew what that was, having been around it frequently as a cop. Blood.
Light and blood. Opposite ends of the spectrum in an unpolluted world. But this world seemed to have room for it all.
Light and blood.
Fear raked across her soul. Her gaze drifted upward. “Help me,” she said, searching the pale features sur rounded by all those perfect yellow curls, refusing to acknowledge the look of sadness of his face. Did he feel sympathy? Could he relate to her situation?
Lance Van Baaren was a loner, like herself. If an empty fortress was any indication, he had one friend, Nadia, while she, herself, had only recently begun to consider Stan a comrade. He lived in old-world opulence, a nod to his past. Her apartment in L.A. was tiny, and hardly livable, but she’d never moved, liking the tight familiarity of the space, needing the safety of sameness and routine. Give or take the definition of the word species, she and this vampire were uncannily alike. They were damaged souls, and knew it.
“There are twelve vampires in that village,” he said. “How many have you fought, personally? How many battles have you won? I’m trying to help you. I’ve always wanted to help you.”
“Always?” Her throat constricted. He was speaking in layers she had to peel back, though she sensed he was again offering truth. Yes, she tasted his truth, and also that it wasn’t quite complete. She had so many secrets of her own, she was sick of rooting them out of others.
“Twelve,” she whispered. There were twelve fang-bearing predators surrounding Elizabeth Jorgensen. The thought made her sick.
“How can I get to her?” she asked, her heart hammering, when she didn’t see how it could beat any faster. Small licks of fire nipped at her skin beneath her sweater and coat, adding to her unease. Lance’s smoky scent was a part of that. She was taking deep breaths as if addicted. She was listening to him as if she believed what he’d said.
“Lance?” Nadia’s voice interrupted from the doorway, urgent in tone.
He looked to the doorway.
“Wolves,” Nadia said.
The beautiful creature holding her didn’t move, but spoke over his shoulder. “We must prepare the traps, Nadia.”
“Yes,” Nadia agreed, turning, closing the door behind her.
“What’s going on?” Jesse demanded.
“It seems that we will soon have company.”
“Stan!” Both horror and relief flowed through her at the thought. She’d forgotten about the microphone.
“Sorry. Nothing so innocuous as your pilot, I’m afraid,” Lance Van Baaren said.
“Then who?” Fear gripped Jesse. Someone was coming and Nadia had mentioned wolves. Lance mentioned traps. This had nothing to do with her or Elizabeth Jorgensen, surely?
Although she squirmed, the vampire showed no mercy. He kept her pinned to the wall with his lithe, so undead-like body, telegraphing to Jesse the fact that there was something unfinished between them that couldn’t be postponed much longer. Jesse needed to know what he wasn’t telling her. Her gun hand was crushed behind her.
“Close your eyes,” he directed.
“No.”
“Indulge me, please, Jesse. Close your eyes. I promise I won’t bite.”
“Sorry. I’m no one’s afternoon snack, and I don’t owe you anything. Your information about Elizabeth Jorgensen isn’t complete and time is wasting. Whatever you know about her should be freely given in the name of justice, decency and all that’s holy.”
The vampire pressed a wayward curl from her fore head, the tips of his fingers cool against her overheated skin. Her lips were quivering, Jesse knew. An unusual weakness had overtaken her limbs. She absorbed the effects of his closeness through every pore and each breath she took, managing to bring up one strangled gasp, conceding that she’d be unable to stand much more of this. She had to get away from those eyes of his …
She closed hers. A new agenda formed in her mind. Get away at all costs.
When he spoke, his voice was tender, and all the more alarming becaus
e of it. “Listen,” he directed.
Cries of foul play streaked through Jesse’s mind like incessant chatter. Differentiating one sound from another seemed an impossible task.
“Listen, Jesse.”
Purposefully, she slowed the chatter, rising above it, as she’d learned early on to do. Not exactly tuning things out completely, but pushing things to the background. With the chaos managed, her heartbeat filled her ears.
What did he expect her to hear?
The fire snapped as a log broke into pieces. Otherwise, the room was quiet. Suddenly, though, another heartbeat echoed her own. His heartbeat—the one she had felt with her hand on his chest, while refusing to believe a vampire possessed anything remotely as human as a heart.
“Listen,” his voice demanded.
Besides her heartbeat and his, the snapping fire and the surrounding quiet, she heard a cry—a high-pitched, piercing sound.
Not a cry. More like a howl. The howl of an animal.
But how improbable was hearing that, when she was several floors up in a castle with granite walls ten feet thick?
She thought she heard the rustle of branches made brittle by a cold wind, and what sounded like footsteps in the snow. She thought she heard him whispering to her in a hazy litany of partial phrases.
Confused, Jesse opened her eyes … to find herself staring into the unending blue pools of the vampire’s gaze.
Being close to Jesse again was foolish. While it was true he didn’t require blood, the impulse was strong to have a taste of hers, hot from her veins.
“Tell me what you want.” Her demand was rife with hints of inner agitation. Perhaps she sensed an answering need rising in herself as well. Lance saw this in her eyes, and he refused to let her go, holding to the connection that had snapped into place through this intimate meeting of their gazes. What passed between them was intimate, no mistake. The brightness in her eyes, the thrumming blood in her veins, the touch of her body against his … intensified his hunger.
Terror struck deep into the marrow of his ageless bones with the thought of what he could make her do, if he chose. If he made Jesse do anything against her will, he’d be just like her other monsters. No chance would remain for the sweet bliss of a mutual surrender. Hatred would emerge the victor.
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