Of course, he’d betrayed his creator in order to do so, and when that power was finally wrested away from him by yet another vampire, he’d seemed to disappear off the face of the planet. Although no one had believed he was actually dead, neither had anyone laid eyes on him for two hundred years until he’d come out of hiding to fight, bizarrely enough, for the newly awakened Saloman. Nevertheless, he was probably still the most powerful being in the world after Saloman, his creator. If he chose to exercise that power.
But he didn’t. He’d left Saloman to come back here. Why? Escaping the world again as Elizabeth said? Or did he have other plans?
It didn’t matter. With a vampire of this caliber, this unpredictability, you didn’t take chances. For Robbie, if for no other reason, she had to kill him.
Her fingers twitched restlessly on the stake. “You saved my life, you bastard,” she muttered.
His eyes opened, almost blinding in their directness. They didn’t blink. He made a strange, choking sound in his throat, as though he were trying to laugh and was prevented by some unspeakable internal injury.
Shit. Slowly, she lowered the stake, although she kept tight hold of it. Maximilian, it seemed, had nothing to say, simply looked at her. Like Saloman’s, his deep, intense eyes were layered with centuries of violence, murder, and pain; yet Maximilian’s were reflective rather than opaque, which made them, curiously, less scary.
Mistake. Never forget that he is scary.
Beneath her, the world seemed to shake. Not simply in her mind, this time, but in sudden, heart-stopping reality. She reached out instinctively to hold on, as a flowerpot crashed off an upper window-sill, landing barely a foot away from them.
“What the…?” She found she’d grabbed on to the barrel with one hand and the vampire’s jacket with the other, listening to odd sounds of objects falling over in the darkness, cries of surprise from inside the building and from the street beyond.
As the world stilled, Maximilian’s hand grasped her wrist like a vise. An electric charge seemed to shoot from his fingers. She whipped back the stake, staring down at him, but he was frowning, almost…anxious.
“That shouldn’t happen,” he said with strange urgency. “Not…natural.”
They were the first words he’d ever spoken to her and seemed to fit what she knew of him: impersonal and to the point. Still, although Britain was not in an earthquake zone, even here the odd minor tremor did occur from time to time. She doubted this one had been strong enough to do any real harm. Before she could tell him so, he let go of her wrist and made an odd, lurching movement, hauling himself into a sitting position.
Mihaela scooted back, raising the stake higher with more threat than serious intention, for his head lolled back against the wall.
His right arm hung uselessly by his side; his leg was still bent wrongly at the knee.
“What’s the matter with you?” Mihaela said harshly. She didn’t want to see the vampire’s pain, to feel any sympathy; not for this vampire. “Why aren’t you healing?”
For answer, he glanced down at his bloody wrists. “Not enough blood.”
She stared at the wounds in both wrists, in his neck and face. They’d bitten him, draining him to weaken him for the kill. It was a tried-and-tested method by which weaker vampires could kill a stronger enemy. They couldn’t otherwise draw enough blood from him in a single bite to drain him—even if they could get close enough and stay attached to his vein.
She swallowed. “I thought you were just drunk.”
“That too.”
“Will you be able to move from there before sunrise?”
“Oh yes.”
Defeated, because it seemed she couldn’t kill him after all, she stood up, turned her back on him, then stopped. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”
There was no sound, no movement behind her. It didn’t matter whether or not she killed him. Without blood, he wouldn’t heal, and she doubted he was strong enough to take any.
Good.
Only, the sun would come up eventually and turn him to dust.
Save her the trouble.
“Shit and shit and shit!” She spun back around.
“Tell him,” Maximilian said. “About the tremor.”
“Saloman?” she said, dropping to a crouch beside him. “You tell him. I don’t like to talk to the bastard. Are both your legs broken?”
“Only one leg.”
Though who knew in how many places. Or however many other bones. No wonder there were layers of pain in his eyes. And it would get worse.
****
Afterward, she was never sure how they managed it. He didn’t even seem inclined to cooperate at first, and it struck her that this enigmatic being had grown too used to not giving a damn. A strange thought concerning a species she’d always known cared for nothing but blood and continued existence. Until Elizabeth had fallen in love with the Ancient vampire Saloman and shown her that, like humans, vampires were not all the same. But she wouldn’t think of that now.
She opened her mouth to command him, but abruptly, before she could speak, he pulled himself up, took his own weight on one leg, and leaned his better arm across her shoulders. Like that, they walked and staggered out of the yard and along the street, Maximilian dragging his broken leg behind him. It must have been agony, but no sound of it passed his lips. The only sign of his pain was the trembling of his whole body.
It felt weird, holding the cool, hard body to her side. Never in her life had she been this close to any vampire, except in combat; and now that she was, she wished it was any vampire but this one. She tried to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, on finding the closest hotel to drop him at. She couldn’t take him to the hospital. Too many questions would be asked, and they’d spot pretty quickly that he wasn’t exactly human. The resulting furor might please Saloman, but Mihaela was not yet ready to have the reality of vampires thrust on the world at large.
Fortunately, the first person she asked directed her to a cheap Travel Lodge only a couple of streets away.
“Your man all right there?” he asked, nodding at Maximilian. “You want a hand with him, aye?”
“Oh, no thanks,” Mihaela said hastily. “He’s sprained his ankle, that’s all. Had a few too many. He’ll be fine.”
She kept a close grip on Maximilian during the encounter, half expecting him to lunge at the stranger for blood, despite his weakness; but oddly, when she could spare him a glance, his gaze was on her face.
He didn’t speak throughout the entire journey. By the time they found the hotel, her body felt on the verge of collapse. Everything ached. Only the fact that Maximilian must be suffering considerably more kept her going. Leaving him propped up against the wall at reception, she went and booked a twin room in her name, since that seemed easiest. His head leaned back against the wall; his hair fell over his eyes. And yet, as she came back to him, she could feel him watching her every move. If he was recovering already, she would have to watch her back. Or at least her neck.
It was unspeakable relief to drop him on the bed. He landed with his back propped up on the pillows and his uninjured leg half on the bed. As she fell back to draw breath and rub her aching shoulder, he leaned forward and with his good arm lifted his broken leg onto the bed, straightening it into position at the knee and pushing at his thigh. It made ominous cracking sounds that caused her stomach to heave.
Next, under her appalled but fascinated gaze, he took off his woolen jacket with quick, awkward movements, pulling it over his broken arm, which he twisted into position in his lap. Then he fell back against the pillows with his eyes shut. His jeans and black T-shirt were torn and stained with blood and dirt. In the harsh, electric light he looked as white as the bedsheets. But then, when she glanced in the mirror, so did she.
Hastily, she walked to the cupboard and found a glass, then went to the bathroom to fill it with water. It seemed the least she could do. When she returned to the bedside, his eyes were still
closed. A lock of straight, dark hair had fallen across his face, adding a misleading impression of boyish vulnerability to the straight, even-featured face. He looked like an exquisite Renaissance statue, fine-boned with bulging muscles, carved in white marble. He looked dead.
It would save so much trouble if he truly were; if he would just explode to dust in front of her eyes…
So why did her throat constrict as she put the glass on the night table? It was bad enough pitying him; on no account could she let herself mourn him.
Saloman would. And so would Elizabeth, for Saloman’s sake if for no other.
She drew in her breath, dragging her mind back to this reality. There were things she needed to know from him. When would he be able to answer? If he chose to…
Blinking, she realized his eyes were open and staring at her. “You are strong,” he said, “even for a hunter.”
She shivered. His voice was low and deep, catching at something inside her. And he formed his words with care, as if unused to speaking. He’d been a recluse for centuries, hiding from his own kind as well as from humans.
“I’ve been a hunter for a long time,” she said.
“I know. I’ve seen you fight.”
She dropped her gaze. She’d seen him fight too. For her, on one occasion, which she really couldn’t afford to recall right now. “I brought you water,” she said awkwardly, waving one hand at the glass. She didn’t even know if vampires drank anything but blood. She’d been killing them for so long and yet didn’t know this simple fact…
The vampire inclined his head, in a gesture reminiscent of Saloman himself. They were impressive bastards. Dangerous, lethal, impressive bastards, she reminded herself.
She drew in her breath. “What do you want with the boy?” she blurted.
His thick eyebrows lifted in what looked like genuine surprise. “Nothing. I do not eat children.”
“He came to you. He ran from the others to get to you.”
“He’s psychic. He feels the presence of vampires, knows they can communicate with him as other humans can’t.”
“But not that they’ll drink his blood?” she snapped.
He shrugged, and his lips twisted in quick pain. “Probably not, since he doesn’t seem remotely frightened.”
Mihaela took a step nearer, closed her fingers comfortingly around the stake in her right-hand pocket. “And the other vampires tonight—who are they?”
“They didn’t introduce themselves.”
She let it pass. “Did they come for Robbie, or for you?”
“Not for me. None of them should have been able to sense me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Were you really drunk?”
“Vilely.”
“Then your mask could have slipped.”
He didn’t respond to that, just continued to look at her. His mask hadn’t slipped. But alcohol had surely made him easy to defeat. He might even have wanted that. If he were human, she would have thought there was something terribly wrong with Maximilian, some deep trouble in his soul. Except vampires didn’t have souls, whatever Saloman wanted her to believe. They drank human blood to maintain their own, unnatural existence.
Maximilian’s gaze dropped to her neck, as if he couldn’t help himself, and then away to his own still, white fingers lying in his lap.
“You’re wondering what to do,” he said at last. “Tell Dmitriu about the boy. Tell Saloman—or Elizabeth—about the vampires. There shouldn’t be so many here. Most of them are not British.”
She curled her lip. “I don’t discharge my responsibilities by laying them on someone else’s shoulders. Particularly not on—” She broke off, shrugging impatiently.
“Particularly not on vampire shoulders?” For the first time, there was feeling in Maximilian’s voice, even if it was only mockery. She opened her mouth to retort that there was no way she would ever consider pushing a child into the arms of Dmitriu or any other vampire, but before she could, he said tiredly, “Dmitriu will not hurt the boy, nor let anyone else. And some burdens are too great for one being—even a strong hunter.”
She closed her mouth and began again. “Why is this burden so great? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. And you need help to find out. Help beyond your hunter friends. The vampires are young, yet strong in their minds.”
Mihaela frowned. “In what way? How?”
“I don’t know. I had little time or ability to investigate. Saloman needs to know.” His eyes closed again, as if consciousness, existence itself, were slipping away from him. Frightened in spite of herself, she leaned over him, and his eyes snapped open. “And the tremor. Tell him that too. It’s important.”
Mihaela straightened, half-embarrassed at being discovered so close to him, at betraying any concern whatsoever. “You tell him,” she snapped again. “You can talk to him from here, can’t you?”
There was a pause, then, “No. Not today.”
“Because you’re too weak? Then tell him tomorrow, if you must.”
He moved so fast that she had no time to prepare. Her wrist was in his hard, cold grasp, and again she felt that electric frisson shooting up to her fingertips, spreading through her whole body. He said, “No games. Don’t be petty. It’s beyond that. Tell him.”
Mihaela dragged the stake from her pocket, at the same time wrenching her hand free. He let her go, closing his eyes once more, and abruptly, she understood.
Maximilian was dying. For him, there would be no tomorrow.
She sank down onto the other bed, staring at his white, closed face. “What will happen?” she blurted. “Will you just turn to dust in the night?”
There was another pause, going on so long she thought he might be asleep. Then: “I suppose so.”
“Don’t you care?” she demanded. She didn’t know why it made her so angry.
“Not very much, no.” His eyes opened, regarding the stake she still held poised and aimed at his heart. “You can use it if you like. I will make you much stronger.”
“I’m strong enough,” she retorted, annoyed to be granted permission for something she was sure she couldn’t do anyhow. “Hell, how can you just die? Vampires don’t die from injury!”
“They do if they have no blood to heal.”
She stared at him. “Then all you need is blood?”
Once again, his gaze dropped to her throat. Her vein tingled as if he’d actually touched it, and her breath caught. Oh no. I’m not doing that. And yet, when his eyes moved deliberately back to hers, she couldn’t look away.
She’d never seen hunger like it. It flooded his eyes, darkening them like tarnished silver, dragging her into their bottomless depths. He needed blood more badly than an addict needed a needle. She could live with that, since there was very little he could do about it. Or would do about it. What hurt was the strange, personal link forming between their eyes, the knowledge that his hunger wasn’t merely impersonal but focused on her, and deeply, disturbingly sexual.
She’d felt it before, the weird, physical attraction of older vampires, but never this strongly. His sheer beauty made it so much worse, as did the flood of dream memories that hit her without warning. The hot, shameful dreams that had disturbed her sleep in the months since the battle against Luk in Budapest.
She jumped to her feet, as if movement could dispel past and present desires. He never needed to know much she’d wondered… Would still wonder.
If she left now, by morning, he would no longer exist. He wouldn’t even make it to biting the chambermaid who’d been worrying Mihaela since she’d decided to take him to a hotel. But there were still questions to be asked.
Something changed in the vampire’s gray, reflective eyes. A different kind of pain that she couldn’t begin to guess at. Then his eyelids closed, and a faint smile formed on his full, sensual lips.
“We’re both running away,” he observed. “I can’t blame you.”
Mihaela’s heart thundered in her breast. She could not
run away. She had the power, for good or ill, to keep this very odd vampire in existence.
She could die.
I could find out what the blood drink is truly like…
Appalled, she strode to the bedroom door, and grasped the handle. Maximilian had saved her life. Was it a fair return just to let him die in greater comfort than he’d have found hiding behind a barrel in the backyard of a pub?
Elizabeth didn’t believe Maximilian was evil. Whatever he’d done in the past, he’d shown loyalty to Saloman since the Ancient’s awakening. But what did Maximilian owe Mihaela?
With my blood, he could recover and drain me in an instant, if he chose.
If he dies, there are things I’ll never know.
“The vampire who led the others,” she said abruptly. “Would you help me find him?” She wouldn’t consider the other things she’d never know; she wouldn’t let them in her mind. She listened instead to the beats of her heart. One, two. Three, four.
“If you wish.”
She closed her eyes, shocked by the rush of yearning that came with the fear.
He said, “I won’t kill you,”
She drew in a shuddering breath, snapped her eyes open, and spun back round to face him. “Damn right you won’t,” she said grimly, and drew the stake from her pocket to show him.
One corner of his mouth tugged upward. She shrugged her coat off, over the stake, and threw it on the floor before walking purposefully toward him. He lay perfectly still, watching her every move. Despite his tattered, modern clothes, he looked like some decadent, talented Renaissance youth. Which he probably had been.
Mihaela sank onto the bed beside him, and, willing her hand not to shake, she placed the point of the stake over his heart. Still, he didn’t move. It was possible that he couldn’t.
“I’ve killed many vampires,” she warned him, and wished her voice didn’t sound so husky.
A spark of humor, so faint as to be almost indistinguishable, lightened his pain-wracked eyes. “Then you have another advantage. I’ve never killed a hunter.”
Watching him for any sign of sudden attack, she leaned slowly over him, angling her head to offer him her throat. As his face disappeared from her vision, her tingling skin seemed to grow tighter. Since he had no breath, there was no warning before he touched her throat. She couldn’t suppress her gasp or her jerk of surprise. But still he didn’t move, just waited for her to settle and return to the same position. Again, his cool lips touched her neck. Shards of fear sprayed outward to every nerve-ending she possessed. At least she called it fear, because even that was easier to bear.
Blood Guilt Page 3