Chapter 10
MARCUS
Leah drives us to the lumber yard in an ancient truck that she maneuvers like it will break at any moment. I have never felt the need to fill a silence, but with her, I find myself tempted. She darts glances at me and looks away quickly, and I am keen to capture more of her attention.
Today, she looks like a woman conjured directly from fantasies I didn’t know I had.
Or thought I’d forgotten. She reminds me of a picture my youngest brother, Teddy, once asked to draw.
Describe your perfect woman, he demanded one drunken evening.
At that point, I was not yet dedicated to vengeance.
I had time to think of such things. I described and he drew.
Leah’s mouth is just as full, her hair just as silky, her cheekbones high and her eyes deep and mysterious.
Fool.
She is a slayer. She would have killed me two nights ago. She is a means to an end. She will draw Julian in and she will remove this cursed spell.
I have spent too much of my life starving to enjoy feeling this hunger for her.
Instead of dwelling, I raise the volume on the classic rock she has on the radio.
“You like it?” she asks.
I shrug. I stopped paying attention to human music long ago, but the wailing guitar is a distraction from her scent. I turn my face away to keep her from seeing the fangs throbbing inside my mouth.
As soon as we arrive, I exit swiftly, my skin feeling too tight from the need to feed on her. Frantically, I reach out to Teddy. He will know what to do. He is well-read under all his wealthy, idle trappings.
I knock telepathically. My dear baby brother makes fun of me for hating technology.
He is the youngest of us, sired by our sire mere months before I killed the cruel bastard, and he loves modern things in a way that I do not.
The human world’s grasp on me began to slip once I was strong enough to hunt my enemies in earnest. Human things are a mere distraction.
Humans are preoccupied with making things easier.
They seek to reduce friction in their lives. Friction is the whetstone of life.
My brother answers my telepathic knock as we near the entrance. Leah’s slim hips swing in front of me.
“Go ahead without me,” I tell her.
She shrugs and meanders through the planters by the entrance, pausing to smell a flower. I shake my head at her softness. She is wrong for me in so many ways.
What brings my dear brother to my doorstep?
Teddy’s voice is layered with amusement, as it is in person.
Have you killed Julian yet? His voice hardens on that.
We ignored Julian for years, until he killed a younger vampire Teddy sired.
He slaughtered him to get back at Teddy for a bet. His cruelty has gone too far.
I’m close. But in the meantime, I have a question. I pause, steeling myself to ask the question I know I should. Could a spell mimic the mate bond enough to trick one of us?
My brother is silent. Fear licks coolly at my spine.
I have never heard of a spell that can mimic the mate bond for intensity.
His words confirm the knowledge that has been growing in my chest since I went to bed next to Leah.
As I feared. The bond grows in intensity over time, whether completed or not.
If sealed, a vampire binds his mate to him and is granted immense pleasure and power beyond his years.
But the bond exacts a terrible toll. Mated vampires can only feed from a mate.
If a vampire does not seal the bond, what starts as a mere urge to bite grows into an undeniable need to claim, followed swiftly by agony if the bond is not completed.
Severing the bond is said to be like voluntarily severing a limb.
Silence from Teddy, then, tentatively, Have you found a mate?
I roll my shoulders. Inside me, I can feel the slayer and the beginning threads of a bond. It is both pleasurable and uncomfortable at once. I believe so. She’s a slayer.
His snarl echoes in my head. My brother hates slayers with a level of animosity that is personal and terrifying.
Kill her.
I growl into the night air, and a couple exiting their car jumps before the man wraps his arm around his woman’s shoulders.
I will not be killing her.
I’m not even sure I can stand to drive her away anymore. Her presence is warm and soothing at the back of my brain. I watch her run her hands over a stack of wood, like she’s considering what to make with it, and I find myself briefly envious of those seeking fingers.
Mates are to be cherished, I remind him. The words are drilled into us over the centuries. A mate is to be coddled, protected, held above all others. I have never fantasized about mating, but many of us do. Many vampires would kill to find one like Leah.
Slayers are evil, he argues.
A week ago I would have agreed with him. This one is young and foolish.
We are silent as I watch her greet a man who must be a were. He’s too big to be a human, and his hair is shaggy like an animal’s coat. A rumble builds in my chest. He’s grinning at her and standing way too close. My shoulders tense.
You’re not going to complete the bond with her, are you? Teddy’s words are careful.
And spend my life hungering for her? Look at Julian. He craves his mate and he didn’t even seal the bond.
You may not have a choice.
I curse silently, still watching Leah smile at the were. Even now, I’m compelled to bite her. To claim her.
Most vampires can’t withstand more than a week like this.
I’m not most vampires. My control is superior.
Teddy sends me an image of him rolling his eyes.
The were pulls Leah into a hug and the rumble dredges up from my chest.
I must go.
Another one bites the dust.
I don’t bother to respond.
I stride for the were as he releases Leah. I can feel my body preparing for battle as it did in the arena. My vision tunnels. My fangs lengthen.
“Wolf,” I growl.
He whirls. He’s big. Nearly as large as I am. But weres are more animal than man and easy to outsmart. My lip curls.
He glances at Leah, as if in permission, and I want to bite him just for that. Just for having a connection with her that I am denied.
“This is Dean,” Leah says.
Dean is a weak name, I don’t say.
I’ve never killed a Dean before.
Dean’s face is wary. “Human-frequented areas are protected spaces, bloodsucker. You forget yourself.”
Leah mutters a curse before her hand wraps around my upper arm. “We’ll be going now.”
Dean’s expression morphs to amusement and sly understanding. I narrow my eyes. There’s a joke I’m missing here. “Have fun, you two.”
Leah’s shoulders are tense as she drags me away from him. I let her.
“So you know, I am permitting this.”
She gives me a mutinous look. I can feel Dean watching.
“What is your history with him?”
“My history?” she whispers angrily. “You almost bit him. He’s fixing my hallway. He’s a friend.”
“What kind of friend?”
Her face reddens. “Not like that. He wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
Her gaze darts away. “I tried to kiss him,” she says. “He rejected me. It doesn’t matter. Now he thinks I’m with you. Which, thank you for that, by the way.” She glares. “It’s going to be all over town by the time the moon is up. Weres gossip like old ladies.”
“You’re upset by this.”
“Perceptive of you.” She turns away and examines the price tag on a piece of wood. “Ash is best, but I can’t afford much of it.”
I grip her shoulders and turn her toward me. She brings out all my worst instincts. She makes me feel feral and hungry, the way I did as a boy. I hate it even as I seek more of her.
“Why did the were reject you?”
She shrugs. “I’m not his type, I guess.” She tries to wriggle away. “Are the stakes for death or torture?”
Her question is astute, but I’m more focused on what she isn’t saying. “How can that be?”
She stiffens. “I’m not the type for lots of males. It’s fine.”
A rumble builds in my chest. I assume Dean is simply pursuing her more slowly. As any predator would. My thumb skates over her collarbone. I move closer.
Dean won’t be stealing my mate today.
“Is he watching?”
Her gaze darts. “Yeah,” she says, slightly breathless. “Step back, vampire. You’re making a scene.”
I want just one hit of her intoxicating scent. I brace my hands on the shelf above her head. She is utterly lovely like this, her eyes large and wary, fringed with thick lashes. Her lips are parted. Her pulse pounds at my nearness, and I like that I am the one to set its pace.
“What are you doing?”
“Examining the goods,” I say blandly.
Her eyes narrow. I dip my chin and rub my face over her hair. It’s silky, dense, and warm. Everything about her is so at odds with my being—warm where I’m cold. Full of life and movement when my world so frequently feels leached of color. I confess, I had not noticed the lack until this moment.
Her breath hitches.
“Vampire,” she warns. “Step away.”
“Marcus,” I tell her. “My name is Marcus.”
“Marcus,” she whispers.
The air seems to spark between us. Her inhale is sharp and goes straight to my groin.
I step back, and we continue to shop. She darts wary glances my way as we do.
She appears intrigued by me, as I am by her. And while she might be a slayer, she wanted to cry when she heard about my past. I saw it in her eyes. Under all her scowling and her snappish words, there is a tender heart. She is not evil.
Admitting it is the very worst thing I can do.