Epilogue
Several months later
“Not ever?” Layla propped herself on her elbow, frankly amazed. The oak tree rustled, night wind caught in branches heavy with damp spring leaves. “Really?”
“Not even as fledglings.” Flat on his back, fingers laced behind his head, Max lounged like a big cat.
He was impossibly feline sometimes. “Some say the killing sleep holds dreams and that is how it grasps an elder, with memories of mortal life. Or fantasies.” One corner of his mouth lifted incrementally.
“Much better to rest in a leman’s arms.”
Layla rolled her eyes. “Except when you sleep in the corner.” She picked idly at the plaid blanket he’d spread so carefully atop another weatherproof layer, since the ground was damp from constant rain.
It was a tradeoff. Everything here was so green, all the time.
“That…” A slight, rippling shrug. His every move was so controlled, but he didn’t seem to mind her constant need to fidget. “It’s different. It’s more of a trance.”
Sure. Maybe now was a good time to broach the subject.
This park had a great view of the city’s glimmering, a field of stars mirroring the great vault overhead.
The breeze was chilly, but sanguinant didn’t feel extreme temperatures so much; still, she decided to slither a bit closer to his comforting heat. “I’ve been thinking.”
As usual, he immediately tilted his head, paying attention. “Yes?”
“About hunting—not to feed,” she hastened to add, knowing how he felt about that particular subject.
No that she ever wanted to grab a human being and take blood, though he said she wouldn’t go nuts, swallow too much, and inadvertently murder someone.
Immune to the glut, was how he put it, and while she was glad about the assertion Layla didn’t feel like testing it anytime soon. “But other things. Demimonde stuff.”
Max was silent, but not in a dismissive way. His quiet was focused, receptive attention; it was strange to be listened to so closely. She liked the feeling, certainly, but still suffered the same old flutter of anxiety at advancing an idea, risking another hunter’s ire.
Especially a man.
“We could do a lot of good,” she added, her knee touching his leg. Carefully, because he was apt to take most nudges as an invitation to at least a kiss. “Right? Take care of mad sanguinant, the ones doing bad things.”
“Hm.” Neither agreeing nor the opposite, a very male noise.
Layla nudged a little harder. “Don’t just grunt, talk to me.”
“Yes, puella mea.” A lingering rumble under the words, and his smile was more definite now. He’d even unbent enough to wear flannel button-ups and sometimes even a baseball cap, though the work trousers and boots were a given. Good for battle, he said. “As long as you like, always.”
More than that, though, he seemed a lot more, well, human.
Still a little stilted sometimes, but the difference was night and day.
Which he said was entirely due to having a leman, but Layla thought regular athletic sex was probably a factor as well.
God knew she had loosened up in that department; the things he could do with his mouth, for example… “English, Max.”
He wanted to be entirely modern.
“Thank you.” Gravely grateful for the reminder, as was every time. “I clear every sanguinant so foolish as to tread in this territory, sweetheart.” His eyebrows rose a little, questioning if he’d used the right endearment.
Good job. She risked slipping a little closer, laid her head on his chest. “Yeah, you sneak out near dawn for that, and when you come back you sleep in the corner. Did you think I couldn’t tell?
Anyway, we could really do some good. Couldn’t we?
I’m fast, and strong.” Since you keep feeding me, and you’re old.
Finding out he could go out in daylight had been a bit of a shock. A daywalker had erased O’Shaughnassey’s entire team; she still wasn’t sure how to feel about snuggling with the biter who had wiped out her own.
Sure, they had shot at him first. But still.
“For a fledgling, yes.” As usual, he moved slightly to accommodate, then became motionless the moment she finished arranging herself comfortably. “That is not my concern.”
It stung, for a moment. “I can train harder. You said yourself it’s possible, if you get a blade going fast enough—”
“I risked you once, Leila. Never again.” Another touch of purr to the words, vibrating in the cathedral of his chest. When it faded, his heartbeat continued, strong and sure.
“I don’t like you going out alone.” There. That’s a lot of it, too.
He was silent for a short while. It smelled like rain, as almost always; the mix of car exhaust, concrete, and the persistent note of fresh-brewed coffee permeating this city was beginning to be familiar.
His heart spoke in her ear, and on the other side lingered traffic-noise, a faraway burst of sirens as some accident was discovered, and the drowsy murmur of urban crowding.
Between the two was a small, safe cradle.
Sometimes it pinched. Not like a collar, thank God; finding out how those had been made, what they were intended for, was horrific.
“I do not like it either,” he said, finally. “And witnessing my hunting to feed may unnerve you.”
“I guess that it might.” I don’t ask where you get the blood from. He was pretty definitive that he didn’t drink to kill nowadays, and she left it at that. Compromise was necessary in any squad, even with only two members. “But will you at least—”
“I will consider the idea most carefully, Leila-my-rose.”
That’s a new one. She was going to have to think of some cute little nicknames for him, too. “Good.”
“But I will not risk you.”
“Fine.” I guess there’s time. If she had to be a biter, she wanted to be the least-objectionable kind. Keeping an eye on the forums and message boards was a lot more thought-provoking now that she had a source right next to her at the keyboard.
And one day, after she’d learned enough, she might strike out on her own. The thought tiptoed around in her head at intervals, a cautious guest.
Layla pushed herself up to sit, almost regretfully. Max followed suit, glancing briefly over the vista. Not because the city was beautiful—though it unquestionably was—but checking the terrain, alert to danger. The constant awareness was sometimes exhausting to witness.
So she poked his ribs, gently, almost like tickling a statue.
“Let’s do something fun. I’ll race you home.
And—” She forestalled any incipient objection with another lingering touch, before bouncing to her feet.
She liked the local fashion of jersey knit dresses and leggings, especially since she could now afford good boots.
Not to mention an actual house. Learning how to get funding the vampire way was another item on her list. “If you can catch me before the stop sign at the top of our hill, I’ll give you a reward. ”
It was a short run, after all. For sanguinant.
Max rose, and set about refolding the blankets with swift, exact care. “What reward?”
“How about a shower?” If she could keep him from ripping this particular outfit to shreds, it would be a miracle. “But you’ll have to be careful, and not tear all my clothes apart. I’ll wash your back.”
The tree sighed, combed by a freshening wave full of green scent. He frowned slightly, tucking the wad of blankets under one arm, and regarded her, eyes gleaming almost hopefully. “I prefer baths.”
“I know you do, but it’s my choice of reward.” The fidgets had returned, as usual; she had to move, soon.
Of course he liked to chase, and nowadays she didn’t precisely mind being caught. They would be lucky to make it to the shower, though he would make sure the seals were set the moment she was inside.
The day she learned how to do that… well, they’d see. Layla shifted her weight, testing her bootsoles’ grip.
He had gone still again, unblinking, focused entirely on her. “Ave, Imperatrix.”
“English, Max.” She was, Layla realized, grinning like an absolute fool.
Which was all right, because so was he. “I am yours, my nymph. You’d best start running.”