by Lynsay Sands
Abigail blew her breath out between her lips and tried to relax back in the bed as she waited for Tomasso to arrive, but that seemed to be an impossibility. He was about to come in here and explain "what he was" to her, and as ridiculous as it was, she was beginning to suspect he was going to tell her he was a vampire. It was those fangs she'd spotted in the bathroom when he made love to her. That with the bite marks on her neck. Those two things were combining in her mind to convince her of what he was and that somehow vampires did exist and he was one.
Oddly enough, the thought didn't terrify her now as it had the first time she'd had it. Abigail took a moment to consider why that was and the answer was simple. The man had taken care of her when she was sick. He'd nursed her as attentively as she'd nursed her own mother. From the few recollections she had, he'd been gentle, kind, sweet, and just amazing really. How could she fear him when he'd done that? Even if he was a vampire?
So, maybe vampires did exist and he was one, but a good vampire. If there was such a thing, she thought wryly. They were supposed to be soulless, after all. Still, why couldn't there be good vampires, soul or no soul? Having a soul didn't guarantee against someone being evil, so why did not having one mean they couldn't be good? Maybe they were like pit bulls. That dog breed all got a bad rap, but she'd had a friend growing up who'd had a pit bull named Otis who had been an absolute doll. Otis had been gentle, obedient, and incredibly patient with Abigail and all the other kids in the neighborhood. He had stood patiently, suffering them to dress him up in princess dresses and whatnot, had chased stray balls when they were playing baseball, and had let the littler kids hang off his ears and hold onto his nose to get up without ever growling or otherwise complaining even though it must have hurt at times.
So, maybe Tomasso was a vampire, but a good one, like Otis was a pit bull, but a good one.
Abigail shifted in bed and glanced toward the sliding glass doors. They were open, she noted, letting a warm breeze and lots of sunlight in. It was nice, she thought, but in the next second she began to worry about Tomasso. If he was a vampire, then sunlight surely wasn't good for him.
Sitting up in bed, Abigail slid her feet to the floor. She paused then, the sheet still wrapped around her. She stopped partially out of surprise because the room didn't spin and she wasn't feeling ridiculously weak or anything. But she also paused because she was afraid the pain would return any moment now that she was moving around. When that didn't happen, she tried standing up and was able to do it without a problem. The dengue had definitely passed then, she decided with relief. The only thing she seemed still to be suffering with was thirst. She was terribly thirsty, which was probably her own fault since she'd only taken a sip of the water Mary had offered her.
Glancing to the bedside table, Abigail picked up the glass to take a drink. She paused after the first swallow to see if it would stay down. When her stomach didn't rebel or otherwise protest the presence of the water, she took another drink and then another, and then downed the rest of the glass.
Water had never tasted so good. Truly, it was lovely. But it wasn't enough. She was still thirsty. Unfortunately, this time there was just the glass and no pitcher to refill it with. Setting the empty glass back on the nightstand, Abigail glanced toward the door she knew led to the bathroom and considered getting a refill from the tap. But in the next moment she shook her head and wrinkled her nose at the thought. One thing she'd read over and over again while researching these kinds of places was to never drink the water. She really didn't want to be sick again.
Sighing, she started to turn her gaze back toward the sliding doors, but paused as it fell on the large cooler by the bed. Abigail peered at it, her eyebrows rising. A cooler. It might have soda, or juice or something else lovely in it, she thought and was immediately on her feet, making her way toward it. She'd nearly reached the cooler when the bedroom door opened again.
Abigail paused and glanced to it just as Tomasso froze halfway into the room. The way his eyes widened and began to glow as they ran over her made her glance down to see that she'd been so caught up with her worries about the pain returning and then at the thought of something to drink that she hadn't noticed that she was completely naked. Releasing a high-pitched squeal, Abigail whirled and rushed back to the bed. The sheet had slid off the mattress when she'd stood, so rather than jump back into bed, she snatched up the soft linen sheet and quickly pulled it around her shoulders to gather in front.
Abigail froze briefly then, blinking as she recalled what she'd seen when she glanced down. She then turned her back to Tomasso, opened the sheet and looked down at herself, before snapping it closed again with disbelief.
"Abigail?" Tomasso said gently.
Rather than respond, she reopened the sheet, took another look down, and then snapped it closed once more.
"Abigail?"
This time she turned to face Tomasso, but she was sidling around the room as she did, making her way toward the bathroom door. "Sorry. I need to--I'll just be a minute. I have to--"
Abigail had reached the door by then and left her explanation unfinished as she slipped inside and slammed the door. A heartbeat later she was standing in front of the sinks, staring at the mirror behind them and her reflection in the voluminous sheet. She looked ridiculous. Her head was the only thing sticking out of the sheet and she had the worst bed head ever. Honestly, it looked like she'd stuck her finger in a light socket and been electrocuted or something.
Grimacing, Abigail ignored that, took a deep breath and opened the sheet for a third time.
"Holy Mother of God," Abigail whispered as she stared at her body in the mirror. Honest to God, she had a figure, and a knockout one too. She'd kill for a figure like that. Or she would if it wasn't hers already. Dengue fever was like the best diet ever.
She closed the sheet, just to have the pleasure of opening it again with a "Pow-pow!" And then she bounced on her feet to see what happened and was gratified to see that everything bounced with her, but her flesh didn't move around like a bowl full of jelly or anything.
Abigail closed the sheet just to have the pleasure of opening it again with another "Pow-pow!"
"Abigail?"
She snapped the sheet closed and whirled toward the door, relieved to see it was still shut. "Yes?"
"Are you all right?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm great," Abigail assured him cheerfully, moving to the shower to turn the taps on. "I'll just be a minute."
"Okay," Tomasso murmured and she could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
He'd probably heard her pow-powing and thought the fever had damaged her poor brain or something, she thought wryly. Abigail wasn't sure she'd mind if it had. It seemed a fair trade-off, this body for some of her brains.
Or maybe not, Abigail thought with the next breath. She kind of liked being smart. She didn't feel any different mentally though, so hopefully that wasn't an issue.
Letting the sheet drop to the floor, she whirled quickly to the mirror, her hands imitating guns, and said, "Pow-pow," again as she pretended to shoot her reflection. She then raised one hand to her lips, blew on her index finger that was the "gun barrel," and said, "Smokin' hot."
"Er . . . Abigail? Do you need help?" Tomasso asked through the door.
"No," she said, her hands quickly dropping. "I'm good. I promise. I'll be right out."
When silence followed, she bit her lip, and then slipped into the shower for a quick rinse. Mostly it was to tame her wild hair, but when she realized the fever had left a faint, greasy film on her skin, Abigail grabbed the hotel soap and performed a fast cleanup. Even so, she didn't take long and presented herself in the bedroom a couple minutes later, but with a fluffy white towel wrapped around her damp body rather than the sheet.
"Hi," she said brightly, trying to act nonchalant about her state of dress as she stepped into the bedroom and stopped.
Tomasso's eyes widened slightly as he looked at her in the towel, and his voice was deep and raspy when h
e responded with, "Hi."
They were then both silent for a moment, but when it became obvious that Abigail wasn't going to move back to the bed, Tomasso cleared his throat, hesitated, and then with worry filling his expression, said, "We need to talk. There are some things I need to explain and--"
"It's okay," Abigail interrupted. She just couldn't take his worry. He looked like a puppy dog knowing it was about to get kicked, so she took a deep breath and said, "You don't have to tell me. I know. You're a vampire, right?"
She waited briefly then, half sure he would laugh and say she was crazy, and that there was no such thing as vampires. But instead his eyes widened incredulously and he gasped, "You know!"
Well, at least she wasn't crazy, Abigail thought with a grimace, and then noting the worry on Tomasso's face, shook the thought away and tried to take that worry away by saying, "It's okay. Really. The way I figure it, you're like Otis."
"Otis?" he asked uncertainly.
"My friend Amy's pit bull when I was growing up," she explained.
"You think I am like a pit bull?" he asked, his voice choked.
"Not like just any pit bull, like Otis," she corrected.
"Dear God," Tomasso muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Beginning to think Otis hadn't been the best opener for this conversation, Abigail frowned and said, "Never mind, forget Otis."
"No. Please," Tomasso said stiffly. "Continue telling me how you see me as a vicious dog."
"That's just it!" Abigail said at once. "Pit bulls get a bad rap but Otis wasn't vicious at all. He was sweet, and affectionate and so very patient. He let us dress him up in tutus and tiaras and let the little kids hang off his ears and lead him around by the tongue . . . He was an awesome dog," she assured him, and then added, "And I think that just because you're a vampire it doesn't mean that you're this evil fiend and stuff. I think, like Otis, you're awesome too."
A long silence followed as Tomasso stared at her and then he said simply, "No."
Abigail blinked uncertainly. "No, you're not awesome?"
"Not a vampire," he corrected.
"Oh." Abigail shifted, feeling suddenly foolish. Wow. She'd really blown that. He probably thought she was crazy-town now. She should have kept her mouth shut and let him talk.
"We are immortal," Tomasso announced.
Abigail stilled and then pursed her lips as her mind did a complete flip. So . . . he was the crazy one, she thought and said, "Okaaaay."
"And so are you now."
"Me?" she squeaked out with surprise.
Tomasso nodded, and admitted apologetically, "I turned you."
"You turned me?" she asked, sure she'd misheard him.
But he nodded and said, "Si."
Abigail heard the word through a kind of fog. Much to her alarm, it felt like a filmy curtain had closed over part of her brain or something. And the room was now spinning as she'd feared it would since she'd woken up.
Eleven
"Breathe," Tomasso said soothingly, immediately at her side and urging her over to the bed.
Abigail sat, laid her head on her knees and breathed as instructed, but it didn't really seem to help. The room was still spinning and now her mind was racing too. In all her worry about Tomasso being a vampire and her eagerness to convince herself that was okay, and then with the added excitement of seeing her new figure, she'd forgotten all about that part. The bit about the turn.
Tomasso had turned her. Just as she'd feared when she'd first got sick. She was now a vampire, and--well, so much for the dengue fever diet, she thought with a grimace. Her new body must be a result of the vampire diet.
Oh, sorry, the immortal diet, Abigail thought a little hysterically and lifted her head to snap, "What the hell is an immortal if not a vampire? Because I saw your fangs, buddy. And I know you bit me, I--"
Her words died with surprise as her fingers went to her throat, but didn't find the marks that had been there. Frowning, she stood and hurried into the bathroom to peer in the mirror at the spot where the marks had been, but they were completely gone, without even the tiniest scar to prove their previous existence.
"They healed when I turned you," Tomasso announced, appearing in the mirror behind her.
Abigail glanced to his face in the reflection and straightened, her eyes narrowing. "You have a reflection."
"I can eat garlic too," he said, his deep voice a dry growl. "And enter churches without bursting into flames."
"But I saw your fangs," she insisted, and then turned from his reflection to glare directly at him, demanding, "Show them to me. I know they're there. Show me."
Tomasso glared back briefly, and then sighed and opened his mouth. A heartbeat later she watched two of his teeth shift and drop down forming two perfect, pearly white fangs.
Gasping, Abigail raised a hand to her own teeth and turned to peer into the mirror.
"They are there," he assured her. "And you too will be able to bring them on after some training."
Abigail's gaze shot to his in the mirror and she asked with disbelief, "Is that supposed to be a good thing? Are you kidding? I don't want to be able to do that. I don't want to be a vampire."
"An immortal," Tomasso corrected, and then assured her, "And you do want to be one."
"Why the hell would I want to--"
"Because otherwise you would be dead," he snapped.
Abigail blinked and stared at him. "What?"
"You were dying," Tomasso said somberly. "The dengue fever had become dengue hemorrhagic fever and was heading for dengue shock syndrome. Liquids and a transfusion might have saved you, but there was a tropical storm on, the road was washed out, and we could not get you to a hospital. The doctor could not do anything for you. He suggested I pray and say my good-byes. Instead I did the only thing I could to save you. I turned you."
Running a hand through his long hair, Tomasso looked away, then back and admitted, "I wanted to. I was happy to. But if you had not been so sick I never would have turned you without your permission. I would have explained and asked--begged if necessary, but I would not have done it without your permission had you not been dying and beyond accepting or refusing the gift."
Abigail sagged back weakly against the counter. She believed him. She believed he'd done it to save her. Because she believed that she'd nearly died. Abigail distinctly recalled several times that she'd woken up sure this dengue was going to kill her. Between the fever, the pain, and the blood--
"My nose was bleeding," she murmured. "And my mouth, and--" Pausing, she lifted her head to peer at him uncertainly. "That was the dengue?"
Tomasso nodded. "You do not bleed with the turn. In fact, your body holds on to every drop it can and will continue to do so from now on."
"Why?" she asked at once.
"Because the blood is needed," he said simply.
"Why?" she repeated.
"Because the human body cannot produce enough blood to support the nanos now inhabiting your body."
That one kind of caught her by surprise and Abigail shook her head. "Nanos?"
"Bio-engineered nanos," he rumbled. "Programmed to repair damage, fight disease, keep us at our peak condition."
Her eyebrows rose. "How did I get them?"
"Blood," Tomasso said. "Mine."
"Like a transfusion?" she asked with a frown, because if they'd had the workings for that--
"No. I bit into my wrist and pressed the wound to your mouth until it stopped bleeding."
"Oh." Abigail's eyes widened, and then she made a disgusted face at the thought of his blood in her mouth and sliding down her throat. "Oh . . . Ewwww."
Tomasso raised his eyebrows as if to say, "And you wanted to be a doctor?" But Abigail barely noticed, her mind was now racing. She'd read some research in nano technology while at med school. What he was talking about was much more advanced than the experiments she'd found, but judging by what she'd read, what he was claiming could be possible. But why the need for blood? S
he considered the matter and then nodded slowly.
"Of course. The nanos use blood somehow," she murmured thoughtfully. "Either to complete their work or power themselves."
"Si. Both," Tomasso said and smiled crookedly. "I love how quick your mind is, cara. You are brilliant."
Abigail blinked in surprise at the compliment and felt a blush claim her cheeks. But she said, "So, I'm guessing the nanos are somehow the source of the fangs?"
He nodded. "They are programmed to keep their host at their peak. To do so they need blood."
"So they force the changes on the host to be able to get it," she murmured, and considered some of the other mythological abilities of vampires. Not that she was really thinking of Tomasso as a vampire anymore, but myths often had a basis in reality, and her guess was that vampires were based on these immortals as Tomasso called them.
Although, she realized suddenly, that did seem a stretch, since vampires had been around a hell of a long time. Long before the word nano had even appeared on the human time line.
"Si," Tomasso murmured. "The nanos bring on the fangs and cause other changes in their host, increased strength, speed, night vision. All our senses are improved really, not just sight. Hearing, touch, taste. We even smell better."
Abigail smiled faintly. She certainly thought he smelled better, and almost said as much, but thought that kind of flirty comment might sidetrack them. There was a bed just feet away, after all.
"So the immortal part?" Abigail asked slowly, and then her eyebrows rose and she answered herself, "Oh, of course. Peak condition. That's what? Twenty-four to twenty-eight?" she muttered. "The nanos would see aging as damage to be repaired too." Her eyes shot to him. "You don't age?"
"Oh, mia bella, the way you think. Tu sei brillante," Tomasso said, wonder on his face.
"Thank you," she said flushing. "But you don't age, right?"
"Si. I mean, no, we do not age."
Abigail nodded and continued to think aloud. "And if the nanos repair wounds and illness, then very little would kill you. You'd pretty much have to be incinerated or something."
"Pretty much," he agreed. "Although if you remove the head completely so that the nanos cannot reattach it we die as well."
"And probably the heart too," she commented, her eyebrows rising when he shook his head. "No. You can survive without a heart?"