Chapter 19 #2
“Mortals. Their hearts will tell you things, in time. The house sings; there is rain with ice, and wind. The trees. Cars, somewhat further away.” He paused between each item on the list, and she found she could untangle the different sounds. “The city in the distance, like thunder.”
I don’t hear that. At least he seemed ready to teach her a few things, though she’d have to test each and every piece of information to be sure.
He could still lie.
Ba-thud.
“What’s that?” she whispered.
“Ah.” He tugged at her left wrist, gently.
Flattened her hand against his chest—he was, for once, just in a very crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and charcoal wool trousers.
It was a lot better than the usual costume.
Maybe he’d been interrupted while getting into another hilariously, expensively tailored suit. “Listen. Right here.”
Hard muscle, feverish warmth burning through undershirt and starched cotton. Another ba-thud leapt under her touch; Bea almost flinched. Focusing on the rhythm made it louder. Oh, hey. That’s…
She couldn’t think it was pretty cool, because he was a monster.
Bea snatched her hand away; he let her, releasing her other wrist at the same time.
He should have looked ridiculous, his knees sinking into a messy bed, his brownish-gold hair as close to a ruffled mess as she’d ever seen it, but the uncanny, barely blinking stillness turned him into a cat watching its chosen mouse move within easy paw-range.
Bea took refuge in confusion. “Did you carry me up here?”
“I thought you would be more comfortable, waking thus.” Was that a faint tinge of uncertainty in his tone? “You’re right, the saferoom is a bit...bare. And there are new clothes, so you may select what you like. How do you feel?”
Like I’ve finally had enough sleep for once. Bea shrugged, glancing at the bedroom door—firmly closed, though no invisible shimmer. His heartbeat continued, and she found it was possible to quasi-ignore the noise, like very loud bass from a passing car. “What day is it? Am I allowed to know?”
“Of course.” But he paused, his eyes half-lidding. “All Hallows is tomorrow, I think. No, Halloween. The names change, though the festivals do not.”
She might’ve been curious about that—he had to have seen some history, even if he was only as old as she and Don had originally thought. But there were much bigger fish to bouillabaisse, as her college roommate Sami would say.
Bea almost flinched again; for a little while during the monster blood trip she’d thought Sami and Felicia were talking to her, explaining the finer points of what the new plan would entail.
If he was being honest, she’d lost almost a week.
Being monster-fucked and high on blood would probably do that to a person, though.
Strangely, her mouth didn’t taste like morning, just a faint spicy-numb tinge sliding past the almost-gone ache in her throat, very nearly soothing.
Her hair was a mess, and she probably looked terrible.
How am I going to do this, then? “Am I allowed to get up?”
“Of course. Shall I ring for breakfast?”
“Can I still eat?” Let’s see how many questions he’ll answer. One of them might even give her an opening.
“Mortal food is pleasant enough, though it does not satisfy. It may slow the Gift a fraction.” He regarded her steadily; thank God there were no red lights in his eyes at the moment.
“So...I’m like you, now?” Am I going to go on a liquid diet? Those guys on the monster-hunting forums would talk about the right way to kill me then, I bet.
“Hardly, kitten.” But a faint smile, as if he found her amusing. Was that a good sign? “When the fangs break through you will be a fledgling.”
Fledgling. Okay. She restrained the urge to run her tongue over her teeth; they didn’t feel any different. “When does that happen?”
It was his turn to shrug, a supple movement, perfectly balanced. “A few more feedings. It takes so long as it takes, though the end is not in doubt.”
Maybe you just want me to think that. I’m doubting a whole lot over here. “So when do I start...when do I start biting people? You know, drinking...drinking blood. Hunting.”
“No need.” The monster tensed, and Bea got the idea it was a bad question. But he still used the same soft, conciliatory tone; all things considered he was being pretty patient. Maybe this was part of his script. “I will hunt for us both.”
She decided to press just a little further. “But shouldn’t I start practicing? Like, isn’t that the point—you make me into a bloodsucker, and I…” And I what? What’s his endgame? This seems way more revenge than necessary after getting a stake to the chest.
Although she had no frame of reference for that.
“You will feed from me. Always.” He leaned forward, the motion perfectly controlled, and red pinpricks flashed in his pupils before winking out. “You are my leman.”
I should really be frightened right now. The lack of fear was oddly more disorienting that being scared enough to cry or throw up. “What if I bit someone, though? Would they turn into—”
“If I find your fangs in another, kitten, I will tear the interloper to pieces.”
Maybe being unafraid was an aftereffect from getting high. Did monster blood produce hangovers? “And kill me too?”
“What?” The intensity didn’t fade, but he now looked puzzled as well. “Of course not. No sanguinant will harm a leman, let alone their own. Take you, claim you, certainly. But harm? No.”
What do you call the elevator, then? And the very bed they were both on? Taking and claiming seemed like euphemisms. Was all this stuff about lemans a lie? It seemed a pretty complex con to run on a dumb ‘mortal’ who hadn’t even managed to get a stake all the way through, but what did she know?
Maybe it was time to shift to something else, since he was getting a little amped up. And maybe he had a different definition of ‘harm’ than she did.
That was, in fact, pretty goddamn likely.
Bea braced herself. Okay. Here goes nothing. She met his gaze, squarely, hoping those crimson dots wouldn’t come back. Did ordinary people ever see them?
It was hard work to lift her arm, shifting among twisted bedcovers; she’d thrashed herself into a knot trying to get away. Still, she managed to free her knees, and he didn’t move as her palm met his chest again. Her own heart was skipping along fast and hard, and her cheeks felt hot.
Oh, Christ, am I blushing? I hope he doesn’t notice.
The monster stared at her, remote and impassive. Bea patted his shirt; even through cloth the muscle definition was a bit startling. Like carved stone, but giving off stove-heat. “Did I sleep all day?”
“The sun rises, fledglings sleep.” His voice rumbled under her fingers. “It is inevitable. You may be able to tolerate sunlight in small doses until the fangs break through. After that, no.”
Oh. So that will keep me trapped during the day, if it’s true. “But it doesn’t bother you.”
“I am daywalker, certain things do not trouble me.” He blinked, almost deliberately. Cats did that to show affection, but she wondered if he had to remind himself to act human. “Eventually you will share that.”
Good news, or just propaganda? She tried to imagine he was human, that her fingers were resting against an attractive man’s shirt. “Eventually?”
“A few centuries.” The monster finally moved. His hand settled over hers, pressing her palm more firmly to his chest. “It’s difficult to say, but eventually, yes. Quite possible.”
Shit. Her heart sank—a few centuries? When he said it so casually, the whole thing seemed absolutely, horribly plausible. Bea clearly needed to get her ass in gear.
So she let herself hold the monster’s gaze, hoping she wasn’t about to be hypnotized like a chicken. “That’s a long time.” Pretend you’re interested. You did it all during the party, you can do it now. “What if you get bored?”
His hand tightened; his lips parted slightly. No sign of fangs, though, that was good. “Impossible. A leman is an eternal mystery, and you more than any other, I think.”
Yeah, well, let’s hope you can’t tell what I’m really thinking. Self-confidence was probably too much to ask for in this situation, and so was courage. How was she supposed to do what she needed to without either?
A subtle change in pressure. Her fingers moved, trapped but not immobile, stroking his chest. The barest butterfly-brush, answered by a thump—his heart, a strike felt all through her own limbs.
Every outside sound faded, even the rush and splatter of cold winter rain.
Kids must be praying for it to stop before trick-or-treating, she thought, and hoped her own tricks were up to par this year.
The prize wasn’t full-size candy bars but her own miserable life. “How do you still have a heartbeat?”
“Mortal death is a process, not a terminus.” His fingers shifted, caressing the back of her hand. “It is true-death all sanguinant fear, even Archons. But those are…” Now the fangs were out, dimpling his lower lip. “Beatrice.” Lingering over her name.
This might be easier than I thought. “Lukas.” She tried to pronounce it the way he had, then rocked up onto her knees, finding the movement easier than she suspected and hoping she didn’t lose her balance.
Falling over right now would be fucking embarrassing, and Christ knew when she’d get another chance at this.
The mattress shifted; Bea found herself again nose-to-nose with the monster. “Am I saying it wrong?”
Please. She was doing everything but fluttering her damn eyelashes. If he was just after the chase, this would end pretty messily. Please, I know I wasn’t born to be lucky, but can you throw me a bone here, God?
She leaned in, and closed her eyes.