Forty-Three
I had never before felt I could reach out and touch what was to come. The future was tangible, a weight that pressed on us at all sides: the impending visit from Brancato, the Sire’s summons, and the choice Vince was going to have to make. It was right there , before me, waiting for something to trigger it into motion. We were on the precipice of what came next, but none of us knew what waited for us on the other side.
Would Brancato even come? Sinclair seemed to think not, but Vince knew he would—knew the vampire wouldn’t miss an opportunity to cause trouble.
“What are you going to do?”
I sat on the bed, watching Vince pace.
He hadn’t sat still in over a day, distracted.
He paused and said the most troubling thing: “I don’t know.” His two worlds were clashing, two sides of himself he had kept separate until now: the part of him that was a vampire against his will, heir to a den across the ocean, and the part of him that relished in his new existence here in New York.
“But he will be dead,” he vowed.
My problems with Lucas seemed minuscule in comparison.
“You can’t be there,” he said.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted me, knowing what I’d say.
“It’s too great a risk. You’re—” the next word stalled in his throat, but I heard it anyway.
Human . I was a human girl. I couldn’t outrun or fight a creature meant to prey on me.
“So, change me.” I stood, making my way over to him.
That fire burned in those gray irises. Want, need, lust for me, for my blood again.
I pressed my hand to his chest, feeling the dull thud of his heartbeat, each thump so spread out from the others that it was undeniable he was living and dead all at once.
The memory of his heart racing beneath me, pounding against his ribcage, his skin hot and damp, while we made love for the first time, came to me.
“Make me,” I whispered, looking up at him.
He shut his eyes, shaking his head. “I can’t. I won’t .”
Disappointment crept in, but I did my best to hold it at bay. “Why not?”
When he opened his eyes, he looked right at my neck. His throat slid, likely remembering the taste of my blood, how he had almost done it that night in the sacristy. How I had been on the brink of death .
On the precipice of transformation.
He shook his head with much more conviction. “Now is not the time.”
I stepped away. “When will it ever be time?”
Though he moved silently, I knew he followed. “The transformation is too drawn out. It will take days for you to think clearly, months to be able to control yourself around humans.”
So we should have done it before.
I sighed and turned toward him again, my back hitting the bed frame. He stood not two feet behind me.
“I do not want to Make you for any reason other than I cannot bear to be without you,” he whispered, hand coming up to rest on my cheek. I leaned into his touch, savoring the feel of his cool skin, the solid presence of him before me. “It shouldn’t be rushed.” His eyes darkened. “I want to take my time with you.”
I felt the ghost of his fangs at my neck, the phantom feeling of the prick of sharp teeth into my flesh. The pain, the fear, that melted into a pleasure so heady I wanted nothing else. I couldn’t imagine coming out on the other end, transformed. How did it feel to be so changed? How did it feel when every part of you died, only to come back with supernatural vigor?
“Then what do we do?” I asked.
“I cannot decide if you’re safer near me, or safer if I send you away,” he said, his thumb skittering across my cheekbone.
I looked into those dark pupils, seeing the torment peeking out there. “You must kill him. Before he gets to you first.” I couldn’t bear the thought of what would happen otherwise.
He nodded, his countenance grave. “The Sire will retaliate. ”
“Is this not his retaliation? Sending Brancato to threaten you?” My fingers found his wrist, holding him there.
Vince was silent again, consumed by his suspicions, his unsurety of the coming hours.
“Why did you not tell me?” I asked, voice feeling small—not because I was afraid, but because speaking it aloud would cement the truth that Vince had been hiding this from me.
His eyes flicked up to me again, having settled on my lips. In his silence, he roamed my face, like he was memorizing every inch.
I could only stare at Adam, memorizing the lines of his face, the angle of his cheeks, the little indentation where his dimple would appear. The slightly chapped texture to his lips, the way his auburn hair curled behind his ears, with that cheap pomade. The shadow on his jaw at the end of the day. The way it felt against my lips, the slightly salty taste of his skin, the hardness of his muscles, the strength of his arms around me.
“Because,” he said, breaking his silence, “it’s a part of what happened that I do not wish to revisit.”
There was still so much I was missing, so many events in his life in those six years we were separated, that he had locked away inside him. Secrets he held close to his heart, pushed down until they were nothing more than wisps of demons that haunted him.
It sparked an anger in me—what had his Sire done ? What was so terrible that Vince wouldn’t speak of it? I saw it now, how the burden of those six years sat on his shoulders, how they weighed him down. How the torment dimmed his eyes, how the memories both tortured and fueled him .
“I left. I didn’t think it important to bring up, if I never planned to accept it.” His hand was fisted in the hair hanging over his face. He clenched his jaw, glancing away from me. “I’ve tried to forget it all. To move on, to make something of myself here. I found you, and I wanted to start anew. I didn’t think—didn’t think the Sire would send Brancato over here.”
He thought the Sire would cut his losses and move on too. Would give up on tracking Vince down.
It hit me then that that was another reason Adam never returned—there was no history of Vince here. If the Sire came sniffing, there would be no trace of Vince Thornton anywhere in America. Not until he started throwing the parties, a year ago.
“I can’t let them take you,” Vince said, his arms suddenly coming around my waist. His face came to my chest, pressing against the spot where my heart beat. “They can’t have you. Can’t harm you.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, winding my fingers through his auburn hair, though truly, I wasn’t sure.
I still felt the ghost of Brancato’s stare on my pulse.
“You can’t be there,” he repeated, his voice muffled by my slip, the warmth of his breath against my sternum. The contrast between his exhale and the cool feel of his skin was a jarring reminder of how different we were.
I was human.
He was a vampire.
His eyes flashed up to mine. He was wholly supplicant, on his knees between my legs, looking up at me like his thoughts never revolved around anyone else .
“Flora. Go to her,” he pleaded, fingers tightened on the fabric at my sides.
“She’s already going to be mad that I’m not inviting her to the biggest party you’ve ever thrown,” I said.
His fingers curled tighter. “ Please .”
It broke my resolve. I could not deny him, not when he asked so sweetly. He whispered the word over and over again, pressing his face once more to the soft skin below my breasts. Our need for each other was overwhelming; not only as lovers, but as soulmates . He was mine, and I was his. We’d borne the injuries of separation already. We would not do it again.
The thought of my harm, the thought of someone taking me away from him, of us separating, drove him mad. He pressed against me as if to make our bodies merge.
“Fine,” I said, realizing my own hand had tightened in his hair.
His relief was palpable when he looked up at me once more. If I weren’t there, then Brancato—or any other vampires—couldn’t have me. He would know I was safe and sound elsewhere, and he could focus on the task at hand.
I only hoped he made it out alive. If I returned and he was not the victor—
“I’ll call her.” I smoothed down his unruly waves.
He turned his head and pressed a kiss to my wrist. “Thank you.”