Mother May I (Knight Games Book 4) (9 page)

“Whoa. You’re thirty years old forever?”

“Twenty-nine. I was turned five days before my thirtieth birthday, but who’s counting?”

“Twelve BC! The things you must’ve seen.” I stared at him in amazement. “Did you know Jesus?”

“Not personally, and not as well as I would have liked,” he murmured. “I beseech you, I’m compelled to answer your questions but you must know this inquiry into my past is acutely painful. Vampires do not enjoy talking about the passage of time.” His lips pursed, and he stared into the fire.

My face fell. No matter what power I had over Julius, what type of person would I be if I made his pain my entertainment? “Sorry. As I was saying, have you ever heard of any other way for a witch to cast off elemental power other than uniting the elements?”

“No,” he said quickly. “The closest thing I can think of is the creation of a caretaker. That particular spell gives a human a witch’s immortality but not her elemental power, although the spell imparts a new elemental power onto her caretaker.”

“Crap. I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Perhaps if you bound yourself to me?” Julius suggested.

I grimaced and looked him in the eye. “Julius, let’s make something clear. You will not attempt to bind me or to feed me your blood without my permission.”

He shot up from his chair and grabbed the glass out of my hand.

“I’m not done with that,” I said.

“The ice has melted. I’ll bring you a fresh one.” He crossed the room to the bar again. “I have a confession to make.”

“Okay.”

“The night I rescued you from Bathory, I had no intention of drinking your blood.” He returned to my side and handed me a fresh scotch. When I took the glass, his long, icy fingers brushed against mine. I shivered. It was a tangible reminder that he was an animated corpse.

“Then why did you?” I asked, taking a drink.

“Your blood sings to me. That night, I couldn’t resist.” He licked his lips and stepped in close, the fire behind him casting his shadow over me.

“But you absolutely will resist tonight,” I insisted, uneasy from his closeness.

He scowled. “It seems I have no choice but to obey you, although I wish you would reconsider. It would help us both if I were stronger.”

The achingly desperate tone in his voice made me uneasy. “Explain.”

“As I was saying.” He swallowed, licking his lips. “Your blood is my ambrosia. I can hear it in your veins, smell it on your breath. I gave in to temptation that first night and I was hooked. An instant addict. That addiction made me vulnerable. I may have fallen in love with you a little that day.”

“That’s not love,” I said.

The dark look he gave me left me sipping my scotch, thankful for the burn in my throat.

He sipped his too. “Of course, once your caretaker rescued you, I stayed away. I tried to forget the feel of you beneath me. I found other diversions.”

“Like Calliope?”

“Yes.

“But then Tabetha came along.”

“Fucking witch. One bite of her contaminated tart and I was her plaything, but the worst part was the entombment. Decimated under Tabetha’s tree, I spent an inordinate amount of time thinking of you.” He chuckled mockingly. “Two thousand years of memories and
you
are what my wasted mind couldn’t forget.
You
were what I remembered when I couldn’t control my own thoughts. A witch I could not have. A witch who didn’t want me. I dreamt of you until…” He shook his head and laughed.

I gasped. “Until I fed you my blood.”

He tapped the tip of his nose. “Yes. Imagine my surprise to see
you
hovering over me. I appreciate the gesture, but did you know what your blood would do to me?”

“Of course not.”

“Neither did I. Not until Polina mentioned that you shouldn’t have fed me. Later that night, I wanted to go after Bathory to finish her.” He shook his head. “Instead, I rescued
you
.”

“Uh… Thank you.”

Julius scowled. “I did some research on the topic of interspecies blood sharing. As it turns out, you are a sorceress of the dead, and I am technically dead.
Your
blood in my veins is a toxin. It is heroin to my kind. I fear Polina is right, and it has made me your slave.”

“It didn’t have to. You knew about the addictive qualities of my blood before you rescued me in Salem. You must’ve known your blood could heal me or you wouldn’t have offered it. Even if what you say is true and you didn’t understand the bond or what your blood would do to me, you chose to take the third taste, anyway. Why did you lick the blood from my neck? Why save me from the goblin at all?”

He set his drink down and held out his hand to me. “Come. Let me show you.”

I allowed him to help me from the plush chair and lead me around the bed to a desk near the bar. “You’re not going to show me an ancient picture of a long-dead girlfriend who looks exactly like me, are you?”

He frowned. “No. Why would I do that?”

“No reason.”

On top of the desk, a large calendar acted as a blotter. He paged back to the night in March when I’d saved him from Tabetha, more than three weeks ago. A red X marked the day. “That was the last time I fed on a live human’s blood, besides the little I licked from your neck.”

“That was the night I fed you at Tabetha’s. That was weeks ago.”

He released my hand and leaned over the desk, bracing himself. “In almost two thousand years, I have never lost my appetite for human blood. You have ruined me.”

“I haven’t
ruined
you.”

“Every time I come close to a vein, all I see is you. All I feel is your pulse on my tongue. I licked the blood off your neck that night because I was starving, Grateful. I had no choice.”

“It’s not my fault. I didn’t know.”

He turned his face to look at me. “I’d hoped to feed you my blood. I’d hoped we could have some kind of arrangement. I see now that you don’t want that. Only
my
side of this
mistake
can’t be undone. Only
I
have to live with the consequences.”

I saw it then, in his eyes. The suffering. The agony. He was bound to me. Hungry and wanting.

“You can’t have made it this long without eating anything.” I shook my head. “You’d be a skeleton.”

“I can tolerate animals.”

“There, see, not so bad.” I patted his shoulder.

He gave me a look that would solder iron. “It’s torture!” he snapped. “You’ve made the one pleasure of my infinite existence empty. Let me ask you, Grateful, would you enjoy eating cardboard for three meals a day for eternity?”

“I’m sorry, Julius, but none of this would have happened if you hadn’t almost killed me that first night. A little self-control could have kept you out of this mess.”

He jerked back like I’d burned him and backed away. “Do you think I don’t rue the day I ever tasted your blood? Do you think I don’t regret ever meeting you?” He pressed a hand into his chest and shook his head. “Don’t mistake me for someone with no self-control, witch. You had my blood in your hand only moments ago.”

Cold realization made my breath hitch. “You put your blood in my scotch!” I raised my hands to my mouth.

“Yes. Your first scotch. The one you did not drink.”

I backed up, heart pounding, and sat on the bed. “I didn’t drink it. I never drank your blood.”

“No. You never drank my blood,” he said cynically. “Thanks to me. Thanks to me having some control.”

I stared at him, his twisted morality coming into perspective. “No. It was because I ordered you not to give me your blood without my permission.”

He sighed. “Despite what you think of me, I legitimately care for you. I wouldn’t have let you drink it.”

“Bullshit.”

“Please... please promise me you will try to find a way to break the bond. I’m helping you by sheltering you here—sheltering you from a goddess. That should be worth something.”

So that was why he was helping me. It wasn’t just the bond but the promise of removing it. I sensed Julius would do anything toward that end.

“Deal. I’ll find a way to break the bond,” I said. I needed his help, and I didn’t want him bound to me. With a deep breath, I met his gaze and felt genuine pity for the vampire. I couldn’t call what he felt for me love. I hadn’t broken his heart as Polina suggested, but I had taken something from him, something valuable and permanent. And if I could, I was more than willing to give it back.

He turned away and strode to a door near the back of the room. “Now, I promised you something to wear.” He disappeared inside what I presumed was a closet, and when he emerged again, I could hardly believe my eyes.

“Should I ask where you got that?”

“No. But to put your mind at ease, let’s just say the original owner left it here in the twenties and as far as I know lived a long and fruitful life.”

“You kept it all this time?”

“Could you throw something like this away?” He said with a half grin. “I may be a vampire, but I’m not a monster.”

Chapter 11

Changes

W
hen I descended the steps from Julius’s room, I attracted more than my share of attention. This time it wasn’t because I was a witch or the state of my pajamas; it was the dress. The gown Julius lent me was vintage, silver silk beaded with Swarovski crystals from the spaghetti straps that crisscrossed along my back to the ankle-length hem. The dress was old-Hollywood glamorous, with a high neckline in front, a nonexistent back, and a slit that hit mid-thigh. My only secret was Nightshade, secured carefully to my covered leg, and Tabetha’s wand, tucked into the sheath beside her.

The matching shoes were a half-size too big, and I gripped the railing for fear of falling. As I descended, I searched the crowd for Rick. I found him at the bar between two female vampires who leaned in on either side, crowding his personal space with unjustified familiarity. Their mouths moved as if they were carrying on a lively conversation with my caretaker. I couldn’t tell if Rick was participating because his back was to me.

The moment he sensed my presence, his shoulders rolled back and the muscles of his torso tensed. In a series of jerky and incremental movements, he twisted to look at me. The weight of his stare was a tangible thing, his gray gaze burning everywhere it touched. I stopped at the base of the stairs and simply breathed through the intensity of it. There was attraction in that look, for sure, but it was more than that. Rick’s gaze held possession, longing, hunger.

He stood from the bar and strode toward me, to the disappointment of his female accompaniment, who flashed fang my direction before turning back toward their drinks. Tonight, there was no mistaking Rick for human. Red wine in hand, he navigated the crowd with the swagger of an animal, his muscles rolling and stretching as if his entire body was double-jointed. He stopped short of touching me, close enough that I could feel his body heat.

“You are enchanting,” he whispered.

A hot blush warmed my neck and ears. I had to avert my eyes; his stare was too penetrating. “Thank you.” My attention caught on his glass, and I wrapped my fingers around the stem. “Do you mind if I share a sip?”

He shook his head and retracted the glass. “It’s blood. They serve a number of flavors here. They tell me this is from a Scandinavian woman. I have nothing to compare it to aside from yours. It doesn’t come close, but it suited my needs.” All levity drained from his face, and he abandoned the blood on a nearby table.

I placed a hand on his cheek and turned his face toward me. “Don’t be ashamed for eating when you’re hungry. I just wish you had told me. I’d prefer you get the blood from me.”

“I don’t like to hurt you.”

“When you fed me yesterday, did it hurt you?”

“No. In fact it was… pleasurable.” He lowered his chin and peered at me through long, dark lashes.

I smiled, rubbing my thumb along his cheek. “It’s the same for me.”

A soft inhale parted his lips. “Would you dance with me?” he asked.

By way of response, I took his hand and led him to the dance floor. The band was playing a slow blues number, the cries of the trumpet breaking through the candlelight. I guided Rick’s hands to my waist and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“I suppose you didn’t dance like this in the seventeenth century,” I said.

His grip tightened and he pulled me closer, flat against his charcoal gray T-shirt. We swayed to the music, and I melted into his embrace. His lips grazed the top of my ear as he said, “I am beginning to see the advantages of no longer living in the seventeenth century, Isabella.”

“Grateful,” I corrected, pulling back a little. “My name is Grateful, Rick.”

He searched my face. “Of course, now, but you were her. You were her once.”

I frowned. “Once. A long time ago, a part of me existed that was Isabella, but I’m different than her. I’m my own person with my own life and my own history.”

He stiffened. “Yesterday, when you were in my arms, I felt her, my Isabella, the woman I loved. She was you.”

I stopped dancing. “An echo, maybe. Rick, you can’t think of me as Isabella. It’s true we share an immortal soul and a source of power that is eternal, but my body, my memories, and my experiences are my own. I’m an entirely different person.”

His jaw tightened with his grip, and he pulled me closer again. “I am sorry, Grateful. I did not mean to be presumptuous. The feelings I have toward you are confusing to me. Ancient. Intense.”

“Our relationship has always been… physical.” I licked my lips. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You told me it happens every time.”

“Every time?”

“Every time I die and come back. You find me, every time, and we fall in love again.”

“Sounds simple. Almost inevitable.” His eyes shifted to the floor and the corners of his mouth curled under.

With a little shake, I tried to refocus his attention on me. “Affairs of the heart are never simple, and I’m not naïve enough to believe that anything is inevitable. You have a choice. You don’t have to...” My voice cracked, but I forced myself to finish. “…love me. You don’t have to love me.”

The music stopped. We weren’t dancing anyway. The band started packing up their instruments and small groups of vampires quietly disappeared around the corner to the tunnels. The crowd parted like water around us, our bodies motionless rocks in a sea of activity.