Beloved Vampire (52 page)

“The wizard told her father that, as a djinn, I was invulnerable, but I had placed my life essence in Farida. While they could not kill me, they could weaken me for many decades, so I couldn’t escape the pit, if they tortured her as long as possible.”

“Oh, my God.” Jessica opened her eyes to meet his, glowing in the darkness.

“But the wizard, who should have known what a demon was, because the son of a whore looked at one every morning in the mirror, said that they must break Farida’s will to protect me first. Sheikh Asim told her that they took me out in the desert and gave me a choice. I could have the spell removed and go my own way, as long as I never returned to the Sahara. Or I could come back and die with her. They told her I chose to cut my losses and run.

“She didn’t believe it at first. But she cried out for me, over and over again, and I was silent.” Mason swallowed, his face a rictus of pain. “As the hours went on, as the desert sun rose and dehydration and blood loss affected her mind, she began to believe their words. Steel through the heart is the only sure death for a servant, though sometimes blood loss can take a weaker one. She wasn’t weak,
habiba
.” His jaw clenched again and he moved back to the bench, sat. “When they saw her live through what no human could, they tried more lethal torments, like driving steel tent pins through her body. That was how it ended at last.”

She died cursing my name. As she should have. She kept calling out for me, pleading with me to answer her
. . .
Not to
save her. She begged me not to let her die alone.

His eyes were on her face, living, writhing fire burning him up inside. Jessica couldn’t bear it. Sliding off the fountain wall, she went to him, sinking onto her knees only a foot away. As she moved toward him, though, he turned away, straddling the bench. The toe of his boot was so near, she covered it with her hand, the atmosphere too charged to dare touching a less protected part of his body.

“Things become very simple at such moments,
habiba
. I would have done anything. Sold my soul a hundred thousand times, destroyed the universe without a thought, for one second of connection between our minds, so she could know I was there, that I would have moved Heaven and Earth to get to her.”

Jessica remembered his nightmare. The woman’s screams. Her own, and how together they’d driven him to such madness. She reached up now, closed her hand on his calf under the snug riding breeches, drawing his attention there. His hair slid forward over his shoulder, the wind moving strands against his cheek, his hard mouth.

“But you believe in an afterlife, my lord. Even your words to me, in the tomb: ‘Allah decides when we die.’ Surely she knows—”

“I know He is there. But I don’t know . . . It tears at my soul every day, every night . . . as if she suffers still, as if there is something I should have done that I have not.”

His voice broke then and he looked away. Jessica sat for a moment, stunned. In her experience, even with Mason, vampires never showed great emotion, unless it was passion or anger. But then, not too long ago, she’d thought all vampires were monsters.

Jess moved onto her feet and slid her arms around his shoulders. When she guided his jaw toward her with a gentle hand, miraculously he turned and wound his arms around her hips, pressing his face into her bosom.

She’d learned
It’s okay
was a balm on the most ludicrously disproportionate tragedies, but she used it now, a quiet murmur, because she understood what the words really meant.
It’s not okay, but I’m here. I know. I understand.
Hadn’t she realized, at some dark, instinctual level, that Mason knew what it was to be truly helpless to darkness and evil? After learning that, a person was never really whole or safe again. And maybe a vampire wasn’t, either.

He didn’t cry. She didn’t expect him to. That one voice break was more than she’d expected from a male with his pride, his age.

Vampires were so damned conscious of the consequences of perceived weakness. But his shoulders quivered with the effort of getting it all back under control, and she held him through those spasms, bending her head over his. When she thought it safe, she slid a hand to his jaw again and drew his attention up to her eyes. She locked him into her expression, the hope of her soul laid out before him.

“Before Jack was killed, before Raithe captured him, I was angry at him. Some irrational part of me thought he should find me, rescue me. I imagined he’d given up on me, that he wasn’t as brave and strong and wonderful as he was supposed to have been.”

She took a deep breath. “When Raithe had him brought before me, he
did
fight, but he didn’t stand a chance. I saw the hopeless fear in his eyes when he realized he was going to die. The very last words he spoke were ‘I’m sorry.’ That’s what he said to me.”

Now it was Mason who lifted his hands and cradled her face, his own expression reflecting her anguish, their shared pain. “It made me so ashamed of myself. He was a decent, brave, honorable man.”

She was amazed when a painful smile crossed her face, one laced with regret and sorrow. “He wasn’t superbly handsome, not exceptionally strong or gifted with invincible powers. He was just a wonderful, imperfect man who loved me. He deserved better than that. I’m not sure if I believe in God and all that anymore, but if there is a Heaven, my hope is that Jack forgave me for those terrible thoughts. Knowing him, I suspect he has.

“She loved you to the very end, Mason. Don’t ever doubt it.” Firming her chin, she straightened her shoulders, wrapped her fingers around his powerful wrists, held that amber gaze so close to hers. “From being sick and in pain for so long, I can tell you that I became a stranger to myself. My love turned to hate, my patience to fury and a longing for death. I only saw things as a very sick, damaged person sees them, not as the person I was. That wasn’t me. And that wasn’t Farida at the end. You understand?”

His expression flickered, doubt and pain reflected there, but she dug her nails into his wrists, willing him to see three centuries of entombed memories differently.

“She knows, Mason. She
knows
. If you believe there’s any connection between her spirit and mine, know that I feel it so deeply nothing else is acceptable. She knows.”

26

A
quiet settled between them after that. Jessica, on an impulse, took his hand, drew him from the garden and down to the beach, so they could walk. He followed her without protest, his mind obviously heavy with the memories, and for this rare moment, willing to let her lead. In some ways, she thought it bound her heart even more fiercely to him.

As they walked, she risked sidelong glances at him. When his shoulders seem to be easing, his eyes less brooding, she decided it was best to try to draw his mind to other areas. “So is one of the reasons you studied wizardry so you couldn’t be taken unawares like that again?”

“Part of it, yes.” Mason’s response was slow, but the even sound of it was a quiet relief. “The other part was what you saw, in the tomb. I wanted . . . I’m not a fool. I know there’s nothing left after the life has left the body. I’ve stood over enough corpses to know.”

That chilling tone again, but she refused to let him go back to that frightening part of himself. She tightened her hand on his. “You wanted to preserve her as you remembered her. Because you weren’t ready to let her go.”

He nodded, surprise crossing his gaze. Jessica raised a shoulder. “Raithe dragged Jack’s body away. I never knew what became of it . . . whether he burned it or dumped it in the ocean. But I know if I could see him again, as he was, touch his face . . . I would have liked that.” She’d looked away during the painful words, but when his hand brushed her face, she tilted into his palm, coming to a halt. “Oh, Mason. I just realized. Your fear of enclosed spaces, and then being buried under those rocks . . .”

“It didn’t matter,” he replied softly. “It’s funny how all your fears for yourself will vanish when someone you love is being harmed.

All I could think about and feel was her pain, her need for me, and how I couldn’t get to her.”

As they began to walk again, Jessica saw a cadre of sea birds fly over the dark water, silent silhouettes. “What happened afterward? Not . . . what you did to all of them. After that. What did you do? Where did you go?”

Mason gave a short laugh, a bitter sound. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. I know there were stories circulated in the desert for the next month about a djinn covered in blood, stinking of the dead, who might appear suddenly by your well or at your tent flap at night. Fortunately, this djinn only stared through the startled person and moved on. Thanks be to Allah and all that. I existed on pure instinct, apparently, going to ground during daylight and then drifting at night.”

His hand loosened, as if he thought she might want to pull away, but instead Jess interlaced her fingers with his. His words painted a chilling image, though, reminding her of the violence that could exist in the bottom of any vampire’s soul. But then, she’d discovered that darkness in herself as well, the night she killed Raithe.

He paused, looking down at their fingers, and something sad and tired passed over his features, aging him. “They even killed my horse, Jessica. Tortured and murdered the poor beast in front of Farida, in case more of my evil was trapped inside of him. That hurt her almost as much as her own torment, for she could not bear to see anything innocent harmed. Coman came from his bloodline, and I see him in the turn of his head at times, the flash of an eye. My vengeance was for him as well, for he had no way of understanding why humans, who had always treated him with such love and respect, would turn on him. At least humans understand evil.”

“Or at least expect it,” Jessica murmured. “I’m not sure I’ll ever understand it. When did you finally recover yourself, my lord?”

“I didn’t, not for a long time.” He shook his head. “Somewhere along the way I reclaimed enough coherence to stop being a desert bedtime story to scare the children.” That faint, humorless flash went through his eyes again. “But for many years after that, I wandered as aimlessly. Europe, Asia, the Americas, with no purpose, though I did find this place during that time. Alcohol doesn’t

impact vampires, not in terms of physical deterioration, but I’m happy to report if he drinks copious amounts of it, a vampire can wallow in a pungent swamp of self-pity for an indefinite period of time. I thought about dying, even tried it a couple times, but was always thwarted in my attempt. I’d pass out somewhere before I could walk into the sun, and then when I woke, it would be dusk again.”

The return of his dry, self-deprecating wit loosened some of the tension in her stomach. “Fortunately, there was a vampire who did not give up on me. I’ve never gone out of my way to build friendships with my own kind. In fact, if asked, she would say I go out of my way to alienate them as much as possible.”

“Because of what happened after your parents died?”

Mason slanted a glance at her, but nodded. “Farida’s journal told you an unprotected vampire male adolescent’s life is . . .