Chapter 10
Max
Icould feel my mate’s terror while frozen in half-consciousness, forced to wait until the sun fully set to save him, or meet true death myself. It was the closest I’d been to hell in a long time.
Not since the day I lost my family.
The instant the sun dipped below the horizon, I flung open the lid and leaped from my coffin. Tearing down the heavy material I’d used to cover the window, I then threw myself through the glass to the street below.
Someone screamed, but I had no time to compel them into forgetfulness. The hotel staff had no recollection of the rooms I’d handsomely paid for—no memory those rooms even existed—so if anyone tried to trace tonight’s events back to me, they would find it a difficult task indeed.
And anyone who has harmed my mate will find themselves dead.
I immediately noticed the small crowd at the end of the street, gathered in front of the archway greeting travelers to this shithole town.
“Makisig…”
My focus narrowed on the increasingly alarming scene—on the rope creaking as it slid over the wood, and the resulting jeers echoing off the surrounding buildings as a body was hoisted upward.
The gorgeous hair hanging over his face hid the anguish I could physically feel, but when familiar boots came into view—violently kicking the air, desperate for purchase as the condemned struggled to live—I knew.
Mine.
Launching myself into the air to cover the distance more quickly, I descended on those intending to take my mate from me, viciously snarling so they could hear death coming for them before I struck.
I aimed for the men holding the rope, tearing out one’s throat with my fangs while crushing the windpipe of another in my hand.
A third tried to run, but I grabbed him by the shirt and flung him against the archway hard enough to crack open his skull, baptizing the horrified bystanders below in blood and brains.
They came for a show after all.
I turned to where Damon had fallen, but before I could reach him, a bullet to my back caught my attention.
Oh, you want to dance, marshal?
Opalite’s “law” only had time to cock the hammer before I’d punched through his freshly broken nose and ripped his spine out through his mangled face.
The townsfolk were screaming and running in every direction, but all I cared about was the man currently face down in the dirt, gasping for breath.
“Max…” he croaked, barely audible, his vocal cords clearly bruised from his ordeal. “You came…”
“Of course I came,” I hissed, freeing his hands and gathering his limp body into my arms as blood-tinged tears stung my eyelids. “You’re mine to protect.”
And I almost failed.
My enhanced hearing picked up a commotion further down the street—a mob of angry citizens rallying to “kill the monster” at the edge of town.
The monsters are already dead, you unwashed rednecks.
More pressing was the rumble of an approaching freight train heading east. It didn’t sound as if it were slowing, which meant I would need to get us aboard while at full speed.
It’s time to leave this cursed town behind.
Knowing Damon would want his gun belt and hat, I grabbed both before slinging my half-conscious mate over my shoulder and projecting us into the air.
While I could levitate for short periods of time, what I was doing wasn’t flying so much as projecting myself upwards and bounding further on each leap.
This was a skill I’d honed over the past few hundred years, and it had come in handy many times to travel great distances before the sun—or worse—caught up with me.
I must find us somewhere safe before dawn.
It was easy enough for me to infiltrate a new location, and quickly rise in wealth and status, but now I had an injured human who still needed to learn—and hopefully, accept—what I was.
If all went well, I would turn him, but I wanted to ease Damon into his new life—to guide him in a way that was never offered to me.
That’s the best case scenario…
The worst is that he leaves.
Angling our descent into an open boxcar, I set Damon down in a pile of hay and began licking his battered neck, hoping my saliva could somewhat ease the pain.
Drinking my blood would be more helpful.
No, Max.
Not until you’ve told him.
The urge to turn him and ensure his safety was nearly overwhelming, but I soothed my beast by reminding myself my mate was safe.
For now…
I’d managed to rescue Damon from the gallows just in time tonight, but I could have just as easily lost him forever.
What I didn’t understand was how he’d woken up before me in the first place.
I’d been successfully keeping him asleep through the daylight for weeks—as a safety precaution—but he’d somehow broken my spell.
What could have changed?
“Max…” Damon blindly reached for me, still half-conscious but with an anxiety so palpable, it felt like my own. “Don’t leave me…”
“I won’t,” I replied, my tears threatening to fall once again. “I promise, I’ll keep you safe.”
If you’ll let me…
He settled after that, arms clutching my waist as he curled his body around my legs. I kept watch at the open boxcar door, searching for a suitable nest, and hours later, I spotted it—somewhere no one would ever look for a demon like me.
An abandoned church.
Gathering my mate into my arms again, I leaped from the train as it slowed at a curve in the tracks, landing softly on the overgrown field surrounding our destination.
The church was a simple structure made of rough-hewn clapboard, with panes of broken stained glass peeking above the boards covering the windows and doors.
Most importantly, there were no signs of recent human activity and no houses within sight.
Perfect.
I stood Damon on shaky legs, handing him his hat and belt so I could pry a board loose enough for us to slip inside. When I glanced back, he was standing with his face tilted up towards the moon, eyes closed as he basked in her soft light from under his brim.
“So much kinder than the sun,” he murmured sleepily, and I had to laugh, despite it all.
It won’t be long until you understand how very true that is.
Once inside, relief flooded through me to find the outline of a crypt entrance beneath the layers of dust covering the worn wooden floor.
Unlike with European churches, such spaces in this country weren’t reserved for venerated martyrs and saints.
They were simply a utilitarian way to store dead bodies until the ground in colder climates had thawed enough for burial.
Also perfect for storing the undead.
“You’re hurt!” Damon’s sudden coherence had me snapping to attention. He set aside his gun belt and gently turned my body toward the shafts of moonlight seeping through the stained glass to better look at me.
Before I could reply, he tore open his shirt, clearly intent on dressing my nonexistent wounds.
“You are simply covered in…” His voice trailed off as he got a better look at me—no doubt noticing how the copious evidence originated at my mouth before coating my chin, neck and formerly white shirt before reaching my wine-colored vest.
Now is as good a time as any, I suppose…
“It’s not my blood.” I held out my equally soiled hands beseechingly. “I-I killed the marshal and his men because they were going to kill you.” When he continued to simply observe me, I dropped my hands and averted my gaze. “And… because I enjoy it.”
Might as well be honest.
I wasn’t sure what sort of reaction I was expecting, but Damon gently cupping my cheek was fairly low on the list. His hand slid under my chin, tilting my head backward and forcing his thumb into my mouth to glide along my teeth.
“What are you doing?” I shook my head free, baffled at how curious he was behaving.
He furrowed his brow, looking more annoyed than afraid. “Why are you still hiding from me, Max? Show me who you are.”
Who.
Not what.
Steeling my spine, I nodded and opened my mouth, allowing my fangs to fully extend for his perusal. To my continued surprise, he willingly reached for me, carefully running his fingers along my teeth while I did my best to not think about how sweet he’d tasted.
“Four points…” he murmured, almost to himself, before backing away until his back met the wall.
I sighed and retracted my fangs. “I’m sorry, Damon. I should have told you sooner, but I selfishly didn’t wish to scare you away—”
“I’m not afraid,” he interrupted, although the waver in his voice and the way I could still oddly feel his emotions told me something was wrong. “But I do need to ask you some questions.”
“Anything!” I eagerly replied, taking a step toward my mate before forcing myself to give him space.
He blew out a slow breath, watching me closely. “Had you killed others in Opalite prior to Marshal Wallace and his men?”
“Yes,” I answered without hesitation. “Starting with the man in the alleyway behind the House of Eternal Moonlight, the first night of our courtship. After that, it was mostly miners—simply to take the edge off my hunger so I could… behave around you.”
Damon’s eyes widened in understanding. “You need blood to survive.”
It wasn’t a question, but I was grateful for his bluntness. “Yes. Ever since I was turned into… this, food has provided no sustenance. I am able to drink without killing my victims, but sometimes my beast gets the better of me.”
To my horror, my mate’s bottom lip trembled. “The man in the alleyway… that was part of the reason I was hanged. Apparently, he was the mayor’s cousin and the marshal was in danger of losing his job because he hadn’t yet found the killer.”
Unable to stop myself, I closed the distance between us and dropped to my knees. “I am so sorry you were blamed for my crimes, pet. That was never my intention. And, for the record, I didn’t intend to kill the mayor’s kin—”
“I know,” he replied, although he was still clearly upset. “But that isn’t why the marshal decided I was to be the scapegoat…”
Cold dread skittered down my spine. “Tell me what happened.”
I might need to return to Opalite to kill a few more people.
Damon nodded down at me. “When I woke up and couldn’t find you, I decided to check on the House. That’s when I discovered someone had slit Madam Roulette’s throat and stolen the doubloons you gave her.”
I frowned. “I hope you don’t think I did that—”
“No, I don’t,” he immediately replied. “But Marshal Wallace had no trouble finding the evidence needed to pin it on me.”
I dropped my head against his abdomen, cursing my limitations. “I wish I’d been there to protect you—to kill them before you had to experience the noose.”
“There was another body,” Damon continued as if I hadn’t spoken, and I snapped my head up at the grief I felt radiating off of him. “Pearl must have interrupted the robbery.”
Oh, no.
“Her throat…” his voice cracked with emotion I felt like my own. “Someone had bit her—with four sharp points… just like the man in the alleyway.”
No…
“Damon!” I grabbed him around the waist, desperate to keep him close. “I swear to you, that wasn’t me. Knowing what Pearl meant to you… I would never!”
Never.
He exhaled forcefully, and my heart sank to know he’d considered it, but I also understood it was a logical conclusion.
But this means…
“Are there… others like you?” he hesitantly asked, running his hands through my hair, attempting to soothe my anxiety like the perfect mate he was. “Other…”
“Vampires. And yes, there are others…” I absently replied, my mind racing. “Not as many exist here in the New World, but vampires anywhere are territorial.”
So Pearl’s death is my fault after all.
That was guilt I would atone for another day, as we now had a more pressing matter to attend to.
“Damon. Pet.” I struggled to keep my voice calm.
“I’ve been trying to be patient because the last thing I wanted was to take your choice away from you.
When I was turned over 300 years ago, it was not by choice.
It was a violent attack that left me to figure out this new life completely on my own.
If we’ve angered a rival vampire intent on killing those we care about, you’ll be much safer as… Well, I don’t wish to rush you, but—”
“I want it, Max,” he slung a leg over my shoulder, pinning me against him as he continued to stroke my hair. “I want to be with you, and if that means I need to become a vampire like you, so be it.”
Sliding my soiled hands up his abdomen, I gazed at the man standing over me, needing him to understand the consequences. “You will crave blood and think nothing of taking a life. You will become a monster like me.”
“You’re not a monster,” he replied, so matter-of-factly, I felt tears welling up again, soothing centuries of pain. “I told you, I’d be willing to kill if necessary and I’ve been craving your blood since before I got a taste of it last night.”
WHAT?!
The panic racing through my system must have been plain on my face as Damon’s grip tightened.
“It’s not your fault, Max.” He soothed, somehow both an angel and a devil as he gazed down at me. “I may have snuck in a bite of my own while you were preoccupied.”
I knew my mate wasn’t angry with me, but I still felt as if I’d failed him.
Another sin to atone for another day.
“Please, sir… make me like you,” Damon cooed, resuming his petting, bringing me back to the present—to him. “Make me yours.”