Chapter 6
Max
As soon as I awoke in my coffin that evening, I hungered for my mate.
I could normally go for weeks—several if need be—without feeding, but being in Damon’s presence without claiming him as mine had made my bloodlust insatiable.
So there have been some… casualties…
It wasn’t difficult to make a body disappear out in the badlands—or even in a densely populated city like San Francisco—but I should have known my hasty meal in the alleyway behind the House of Eternal Moonlight might draw unwanted attention.
That’s the last time I feed on someone who’s three sheets to the wind.
The irony was that I hadn’t drained that particular victim dry, but the idiot must have grown lightheaded from the lack of blood and cracked his head open on his way to the ground.
And now he’ll be six feet underneath it.
Unfortunately, the drunk was a cousin of the mayor, and so the “incident behind the evening establishment” was all anyone was chattering about as I exited the Paris Hotel and made my way to the scene of the crime.
Might as well see if I left any evidence behind.
Not that it matters if I did.
The beauty of these newly-settled towns in this relatively young country was that the concept of a “vampire” was all but nonexistent.
I grew up in a culture rich with folklore, with a neighboring province telling tales of the Danag—agricultural spirits who, while helping clean a wound with their tongue, discovered the taste for blood.
After that, planting taro root no longer held the same appeal, and the Danag spent their nights hunting humans and draining them dry.
Over the last 300 years of my reborn existence, I’d traveled the world, hoping to find more of my kind, but with discovery came danger. It wasn’t easy to kill us—aside from exposure to sunlight or a very specific method of attack—but an angry, knowledgeable mob added complications.
Far better to deal with country fools.
“Come back to admire yer handiwork?”
Far better than someone from the old country—including mine.
I beamed at the Irishwoman scowling from the back porch of the brothel. “Mattie, was it? Damon sent word for me to meet him out here—”
“Not bleedin’ likely,” she snorted, crossing her arms across her ample chest. “Considerin’ he’s workin’ the faro table tonight.”
What?
I froze. “Did the… Madam not speak to him about my offer—”
“She did.” A smug grin stretched over Mattie’s face. “He chose to stay with us.”
No.
I refuse to believe it.
In all my years, I had never experienced a pull like this—like rediscovering the other half of my shattered soul. There was no way in hell I was wrong about the connection between us, and I’d bet my eternal life Damon felt it too.
Madam Roulette must not have explained things properly…
“You are no longer allowed to cross this threshold!” Mattie boomed, bringing my attention back to her.
The fool was brandishing the tiny silver cross on her necklace while commanding me to leave, as if any of what she was doing could stop me.
“So you best be on yer way—back to whatever dank pit of hell you crawled out of.”
I am not in the mood for this shit.
The urge to rip out her throat was strong, but the last thing I needed was another dead body out in the open—in the same location, no less. So I simply tipped my hat to the superstitious, but annoyingly astute, Irishwoman and spun on my heel.
“I prefer the front door anyway,” I called out as I headed around the building. “At least, outside of the bedroom…”
“Abhartach,” she hissed, causing me to freeze mid-step once again. “Deamhan. You mean to poison that poor boy, and doom his soul to the same cursed existence as yours!”
Gritting my teeth, I kept moving, waiting until I found a spot in the shadows to compose myself.
Foolish woman!
My existence isn’t…
With a groan, I leaned against the brothel's clapboard exterior wall and dropped my head into my hands.
She’s right.
The realization of how incredibly selfish I was behaving hit me like a locomotive.
I may have only been a few years older than Damon when I was turned, but he had his whole life ahead of him.
Just because I’d lost everything didn’t give me the right to remove this “poor boy” from his home—to separate him from the family he’d created for himself.
And it sounds like he may not want to leave anyway…
My gaze lifted to the full moon, as if she could offer me guidance. In my travels abroad, I’d learned that vampires in Europe worshipped the moon goddess, Selene, which seemed a safer deity than all those who had failed me in my hour of need. I’d considered her my steadfast companion ever since.
My only companion.
It was tempting to simply disappear into the night to lick my wounds, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave my mate behind—not without at least saying goodbye.
Or to charm him into changing his mind…
Blowing out a slow breath, I pushed off the wall, straightened my suit, and continued circling the building before walking through the front door of the House of Eternal Moonlight.
Once invited in, always invited in.
The Madam was busy introducing a client to her available girls in the parlor, so I easily slipped into the cardroom beyond.
It was quieter than it had been the first night I was here, with only a single gentleman wasting his time at the faro table, but Damon looked as ethereal as ever.
My chest tightened and he visibly shuddered, as if sensing my presence the instant I entered the room, despite his attention to his work.
I know you feel this too.
Typically, the game required an assistant to the dealer—to keep tabs on cards already played—and a “lookout” in charge of paying out bets and resolving disputes, but Damon was on his own.
That’s my cue.
“Are you in need of a lookout?” I breezily asked, sliding into the empty seat beside my mate “In case this young man gives you trouble…”
The “young man”—octogenarian mine-owner Shorty Cross—huffed so forcefully, his false teeth nearly ended up on the felt.
At least that would bestow some excitement on the game.
“I’m simply passin’ the time until Clara’s ready for me,” Shorty grumbled, tossing a colored marker on the table to indicate his bet.
I sent some light compulsion his way—just enough for him to not pay our conversation any mind—before turning to Damon.
“I’ve been told you’re rejecting my offer.” I tried to keep my tone light. “By an extremely sour Irishwoman.”
Damon’s brow furrowed as he dealt another set of cards from the box.
“That’s not what I…” He sighed heavily, apparently no stranger to such meddling.
“I told the Madam I’d stay on until she found a new dealer, since this was all rather sudden.
Besides…” he shot me a shy smile, “it gives us time to get to know each other better.”
Praise Selene!
I almost dropped to my knees and kissed Damon’s boots in gratitude for the chance I’d been given, but then Clara sashayed into the room, wearing only her white chemise and stockings.
“There you are, Shorty! Why don’t we leave these two lovebirds alone and get you taken care of upstairs. Lord knows, the mines will be calling for ya, bright ‘n’ early!”
Shorty huffed as he slapped the money he’d just lost on the table and hauled himself up to stand on shaky legs. “Yeah, well, that depends on whether the men feel like showin’ up to work. Those good-for-nuthins keep disappearing on me…”
Oops.
I may have discovered miners were the perfect prey. They were transient by nature—and readily forgotten when the next trainload of eager prospectors arrived—and it was shamefully simple to hide the remains within the maze of poorly-lit, underground tunnels.
And we’ll be leaving town soon enough.
After I properly woo my mate.
“How shall we get to know each other better?” I teased Damon as the old man shuffled away on Clara’s arm. “I have some ideas, of course…”
He cleared his throat as color rose up his neck—further tempting me. “For starters, is Max your real name?”
The smile instantly fell from my face, but Damon didn’t back down from the question. Instead he lifted his chin and held my gaze, calmly awaiting my reply.
Just tell him the truth.
“It is my name… now, and has been for a long time,” I haltingly began, grudgingly impressed by how perceptive he was. “But it’s not the name I was given as a child, no.”
“Would you share your original name with me?” he asked, his expression hopeful. “I’d like to know. I’d like to… know you.”
I instinctively froze—more prey than predator in that moment—before realizing Damon’s question was completely innocent, with no nefarious motives.
He wants to know me.
My mate had no idea his innocent question might trigger painful memories, because he didn’t yet know my history. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to lay my pain at his feet so he would understand why I’d become the monster before him—how I’d had no choice.
There were many—like Mattie—who believed vampires were soulless demons, and while I had encountered ancient ones who fit that description, I’d yet to completely lose my humanity.
I still recognized beauty and yearned for connection, even if I felt no guilt when taking a life.
Perhaps it was because all I fed on during the early years of my new existence were those who took my life from me—the very ones who’d “conquered” my land and killed my people.
When the name I went by was…
“Makisig,” I blurted out before I lost my nerve. “That was what I was called.”
Not anymore.
“Ma-kee-sig…” Damon slowly repeated—the first person to speak my name in hundreds of years—before gifting me with a soft smile. “I like that. What does it mean?”
I grinned, feeling oddly lighter than I had a moment ago. “Handsome, dashing, charming, well-dressed…”
He laughed—a rich, full-bodied sound I was now determined to tease out of him whenever I could. “I have no idea if you’re pulling my leg or not, but… it suits you.”