Chapter 15 #3
Go figure, biters looked incredibly human while doing mental math.
“Two millennia?” he finally said, not quite sure. “A little more. Time blurs, after a certain point, and one ceases to care.”
Wait a minute. “You’re… two thousand…” It wasn’t possible. He had to be joking; did he only mean two hundred? That was incredible too, but somehow a little less outlandish.
Her head hurt. The sensation wasn’t physical; the mind lodging in her brain-meat attempted to wrap itself around what he was saying, failed, tried again. Why this was the biggest hurdle after everything else she couldn’t tell, or maybe she’d just lost the ability to absorb strangeness all at once.
“Give or take. Age often brings strength, but is not the only consideration.” His eyelids dropped slightly, and his gaze turned distant instead of scorchingly attentive.
“I have known for some while that I surpass my Maker, but it was… again, difficult to care. There was no reason to do anything other than follow orders. I am a soldier, sweet Leila.”
Good Lord. She wished he’d stop calling her sweet; it wasn’t as dismissive as some nicknames, but still. “I’ve hung out with Army guys,” Layla managed, an utterly inadequate response. How the hell was she supposed to deal with this?
“Hm.” Momentary brooding fled, and the biter’s dark eyes were now hot and direct.
“I was sent to kill the holder of this territory. The elder we met last night was one of my fellows—a serjeant, perhaps, you would call it? I believe Father has found me superfluous to requirements, and may very well suspect I would not succumb to a single junior. In any event, I have a leman now. I will not let you be taken.”
Holder of this territory—he’s got to mean Griskov. A sergeant, huh. But that wasn’t the most concerning concept here. “Taken?”
“Oh, yes. Leman are priceless, my Leila.” He lingered over her name, tasting it with that strange extra syllable.
“If another sanguinant discovers your existence, they will seek to acquire you. If by some chance I am killed, the one proved stronger in combat will immediately bite and claim you for bonding.”
“Wait. Just hold on one cotton-pickin’ minute.” I sound like Meemaw. “Kill you? And…” Claim her? Like she was a piece of lost luggage? Layla sagged against the bed, glad of something solid to lean on.
The idea of screaming and running away was incredibly attractive, if she could just figure out which direction to go.
“You need not be troubled,” Max-the-vampire said patiently.
Another twitch went through his strong, tanned fingers, slight tapping motions—apparently even two thousand plus years of being allergic to sunshine didn’t bleach a biter, which was a completely useless detail to fasten on but Layla couldn’t help herself.
“I am possessed of more than enough savagery to protect what is mine. You may in time come to…resign yourself to your new status. Once I have dealt with matters in this territory we may go wherever you like, and I will endeavor to make your captivity tolerable.”
Territory. Captivity. New status. “Do I get any say in this whatsoever?” Go figure, even with the flood of purely physical wellness plus strangely sharpened senses—if they really were, if she wasn’t just imagining it—she still felt distinctly wobbly.
The urge to leap up and just start running was overwhelming.
Nowhere to go, but she had to get out of this room. Just had to.
“We will travel wherever you like, live as you please. I will feed you, I will tend to your needs, and I will not demand affection. Only a certain resignation, which I am prepared to enforce. But we may speak upon that later.” Broad shoulders rolled, settling—a preparatory movement, one she’d seen other guys perform.
On him it was the elegant shrug of a cat waking up, deciding to take a stroll through the garden and see what birds were available for snacking.
“It is past dusk and I must find the battlefield. You will stay here, where it is safe.”
“Wait.” Layla stared as he rose, unfolding just as gracefully as he’d settled.
The conversation had taken a distinct turn, and the sense of the world slipping into madness was more pronounced than ever.
“Hold up, you’re just going to…” Her face felt stiff, her lips numb, and the rest of her lingered in the ‘woozy’ category.
Was he serious about leaving her here?
There were no windows; maybe she could pick a door-lock or two. If she was really infected with vampirism, though, busting through walls like the Kool-Aid Man might be an option.
Figuring out what to do afterward was the real problem. She didn’t even know where she was, except maybe still in the city.
The vampire bent, offered his hand. When she didn’t move, he simply leaned a little further, clasped her arms, and drew her upward. Once more, the truly horrible thing wasn’t how strong he was—more than likely she’d develop superstrength too, that was a heckuva thought—but how controlled.
How careful.
Vampire Max held her upright, still wearing that faint smile. “This is a saferoom; while I live it will remain sealed, and bar the entry of any sanguinant or mortal. Even should the structure above be breached and collapse, you will be unharmed. I will return before dawn to feed you.”
“You’re just… leaving me here?” There’s not even a television, for Chrissake. Layla couldn’t help it; she shot a glance at the chifforobe.
“Only for a short while.” He set her carefully on the bed before he left, sure.
He also took the weapons with him, slinging both rifles with quick habitual movements, checking the pistols before sliding them into shoulder-harness holsters he also shrugged over one arm, and making the knife disappear under his sweater.
It was like seeing Shawn’s guys suit up, complete with the tiny clicks and metallic sounds.
Worst of all, he didn’t use the door, just walked up to it and blinked out of sight. A soft sound, a puff of warm breeze, and her vampire kidnapper vanished.