Queen of Shadows (27 page)

The fuzziness refused to leave her mind even after she splashed cold water on her face and cleaned herself up with a washcloth—she felt almost high, tremulously weak in all her limbs, but it was a pleasant sort of weirdness.

She went back into the bedroom to find he’d shifted position, turning over to face away from the door; she smiled again, remembering the silk of his skin against her lips and the way the tattoo had been raised, just a little the way she’d hoped it would be, like a relief map of ink.

She caught sight of his knife on the bedside table. The blade was still open from the third . . . fourth? time, and seeing it almost made her stagger backward as the realization of what they had done hit home.

I drank blood. His blood. That’s why I feel so strange. Oh my God, I drank blood.

And I liked it.

Miranda slid into the bed and curled up against his back, kissing his shoulder and wrapping one arm around him to press her hand against his heart. She ran her hand over his chest, then around the side, sighing happily. He had cooled off in his sleep, but it didn’t bother her; the blankets were warm, and she was exactly where she wanted to be, and if she were to give the appropriate attention, he’d be warm again in seconds. She considered doing so, but there was too much going on in her mind . . . and as tired as he had seemed, she didn’t want to wake him yet.

She wasn’t surprised at the nightmares. What had surprised her was that they didn’t come until she was asleep. There had been no flashbacks, no real hesitation except at the beginning—for a few hours her memories had been banished to the past where they belonged.

But now there was something new to fear. She could feel it coursing through her. It was as if every cell of her body had opened up to take him in, and something dark and hungry was stretching inside her, waking slowly from years of slumber. She knew the rules—if it happened again, or if she encouraged it, she would change. Forever.

It’s not too late. In a few days everything will be back to normal. It doesn’t have to happen again.

The body in front of her shifted, muscles flexing and twisting, and he turned over to face her, wide-awake with sadness in his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “It won’t.”

Regret rolled through her, but she said, “How did you . . .”

“I can hear you,” he replied. “Open your shields a little.”

She did as he said, parting the barrier like a curtain just enough to let his energy in, and instantly her mind was flooded with thoughts and images, memories . . . and pain. He’d been awake long enough to feel her reaction to what had happened. Her fear had dashed whatever embryonic hopes he’d had.

“No,” she said. “No, I didn’t mean that. I . . . I just feel so weird . . . I . . .”

She couldn’t find the words. It was hard to think straight with his mind so close to hers, the blood between them so strong it hurt. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to be sad, and that she needed him to understand. She shut her eyes, not wanting to block him out but her mind reeling from even a few seconds’ connection.

“It is a little overwhelming,” he affirmed. “But it has its advantages.”

“Oh . . . like what?”

She felt him touch her; as his fingers wrapped around her shoulder, his energy pulsed through her in a psychic caress, centered on his hand and spreading out to her toes. His hand moved around over her heart, and this time he sent emotion coupled with the pleasure. It felt like he was touching her everywhere at once, inside and out, and Miranda’s breath hitched in her chest. She couldn’t help but respond in kind, grabbing his hand in both of hers and projecting her own emotions into him. She felt him shiver slightly.

“You’re so strong,” David said. “I don’t think you realize even a tenth of what you can do.”

She smiled. “I’m starting to.” She breathed slowly, finally taking the time to actually feel out what was different, and found it wasn’t nearly as frightening as she’d initially thought—it was dark, yes, but it was still
her
. Whatever changed inside her, she could still choose what to do with it. She thought about the vampires at the Haven—about the one in her arms right now—and how they used what they were to protect, not abuse, even though the power within them was a hundred times darker and pervaded their entire lives.

Surely, if they could do that, she could . . . and, she realized, she wanted to. Something about this felt right to her. She had spent her entire life feeling out of place, out of step with the world, never feeling completely alive . . . but now, she was starting to wake up to who she could be, and whoever this new Miranda was, she wanted more.

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” she said. “This is . . . it’s a lot to take in.”

“I understand.” She could feel that he did; she could feel, in fact, that he was a little freaked himself.

She leaned in to rest her forehead against his, and for a moment they simply breathed in each other’s presence, taking strength from it as if their energy came from a single source and all they had to do was share it.

“How long can you stay?” she asked.

“Only until sunset . . . I’ll have a lot waiting for me when I get back.”

“So that gives us, what, two hours?”

“Two and a half until it’s really dark enough for me to go.”

“Good,” she said, and kissed him. “Show me what else we can do now.”

He laughed against her lips and pounced on her, ideas blossoming in his mind with the eagerness of a teenager. She laughed, too, catching his mouth again, forgetting sore muscles, the future, and everything else, surrendering to the perfect sweetness of desire.

He was, in fact, about an hour late in leaving—between their last round of lovemaking, which actually became two once they got in the shower, and the hunt for scattered clothing, and the longing not to leave her side, he left Harlan waiting at the rendezvous point until almost eight P.M.

They stood at the doorway embracing one more time, neither wanting to let go. “Do I have to make you promise again?” she asked into his neck.

“No,” he answered. “I’ll come back. It may be a few days, but . . . Miranda . . .” He chuckled, almost panicked at the certainty he felt. “I couldn’t stay away from you now if I wanted to.”

“Is there anything I should do, or watch out for? Should I stay out of the sun?”

“It won’t hurt you, but until the blood has burned out of your system you’ll probably be extra sensitive to light and maybe even to sound. Your senses will be more intense at times, and at times normal. Just stay grounded, and by the end of next week you’ll be fine.”

“No,” she said, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. “I’ll be normal, but I won’t be fine. I won’t be fine until I wake up next to you every night.”

He hugged her even more tightly. There was no use denying it. She would get what she wanted from him, and he would yield gratefully to her will. He could fight it for eternity and condemn them both to misery, or he could listen to the part of him that knew, deep down, he belonged to her. Perhaps the Signet would accept her, perhaps not . . . but one way or another he would have Miranda by his side for as long as she was willing to stay with him. “I know. Just . . . give me a little time. Let this pass, while I make sure the Haven is safe for you. Then I’ll bring you home.”

“All right.” She nipped his ear lightly, and it was all he could do not to throw her back against the door and take her again—he couldn’t seem to get enough of her. He’d spent an entire day drunk on her body and he was already an addict.

They kissed again, deeply. When he took a step back, trying to break contact long enough to walk away, he said, “In the meantime . . . say your farewells to the sunlight.”

She grinned. “The sunlight can go to hell.” She moved forward and kissed his forehead, then his lips, then the hollow of his throat. “I’ll see you again soon.”

He squeezed her hands, then let go, and bowed to her. “As you will it, my Lady.”

Fifteen

Faith was already grinning as she strode down the hall to the workroom, and when she entered, she had to stop herself from laughing out loud.

The Prime was in his chair going over network reports, but even with his astounding psychic protections, the edges of his aura were leaking out, and the entire room was saturated with how he was feeling.

She had to double the thickness of her own shields to keep herself from getting so turned on she dragged Samuel off to the broom closet.

“Sire? You wanted to see me?”

He looked up from the computer, saw her face, and frowned. “Something on your mind, Second?”

She gave up and burst out laughing.

The Prime shook his head, looking aggravated, but only on the surface. He was clearly having trouble keeping the lazy satisfaction out of his expression. “Go ahead,” he said, more good-naturedly than she’d ever heard him. “Get it out of your system.”

“Sorry,” she said, not sorry at all. “I trust you’re feeling . . . refreshed this evening?”

An eye roll. “I don’t suppose you kept this to yourself.”

“I didn’t say a word to anyone,” she insisted, “but, Sire, you’ve never stayed out all day before. People were bound to talk. You know how this place is—and half the Elite has had a betting pool going on how long it would take you two to sleep together, so . . .”

“You are joking, right?”

“Partly. It wasn’t a betting pool exactly but Elite Fifty-One owes me twenty bucks.” She sat down, noticing that while he was working his feet were propped up on a second chair, something else he never did. He was also looking a tad rumpled instead of his usual pressed-and-tailored.

“I want doubled security on Miranda’s apartment,” he said. “I have no reason to believe I was followed there, but I’m not taking any chances.”

“As you will it.”

“Also I’m not happy with the sensor performance in sector twenty-eight-G, so get a team assembled to go out tomorrow night and replace several of the units. It will take me until then to get the last two built. Do you have anything new to report?”

“No, Sire. The city’s been quiet since the raid.”

“What about Bethany Blackthorn?”

Faith wanted to voice her protests again, but didn’t; one thing she knew about him was that he hated being nagged, and that he always listened the first time, even if he didn’t agree. He could quote word for word conversations they’d had years ago. Repeating herself would only annoy them both. “She’s up and moving around but hasn’t made any move toward wanting to leave. The guards say she’s a little spooky, but no trouble.”

He nodded, his eyes back on the monitor. “I’d like to request a personal favor, if I may.”

She kept her surprise to herself. “Yes, Sire?”

“I’d like you to go by Miranda’s and make sure she’s all right, perhaps even several times this week. Let me know immediately if she’s exhibiting any potentially dangerous symptoms.”

“Dangerous? Dangerous how—oh.” Faith nodded, understanding. “You traded blood.”

“More than we should have. I’m concerned that she may have a stronger reaction both because she’s so outstandingly psychic and because I’m, well, me.”

“I’d be happy to check on her,” Faith agreed. “I was going to anyway so I could get all the juicy details.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“Damn right.”

A few hours later when Faith got off duty and went into the city to hunt, she doubled back afterward and presented herself on Miranda’s doorstep, trying not to look as smug as she felt.

Miranda didn’t answer on the first knock, and when she opened the door, all of Faith’s humor drained out of her.

“Good God,” Faith said. “You look terrible.”

Miranda beckoned her inside and returned to the couch where she’d been camped—she was dressed in faded Mickey Mouse pajama pants and a black tank top and had several empty water bottles and a pizza box on the coffee table in front of her. The lid was open enough for Faith to see she’d taken one bite.

“All right, you have to eat,” Faith informed her sternly. “You need protein and iron or you’re going to feel worse by the end of the night. Do you have any multivitamins around here?”

“Bathroom,” was the vague reply.

Faith fetched the bottle and pressed two capsules into Miranda’s hand. She took them without protest. Then Faith went into the kitchen and dug through the fridge until she came up with half a leftover giant burrito from Freebird’s. It was loaded with beans, rice, and vegetables and wouldn’t be as hard on her stomach as all that cheese. Luckily it seemed to be only about two days old, and a minute in the microwave restored it to something of its former glory.

“Here. Eat this. Small bites.”

Miranda seemed relieved, for a change, at having someone tell her what to do. She nibbled at the edges of the tortilla and then managed a few larger bites.

“He wasn’t kidding when he said you exchanged too much,” Faith observed, shaking her head. “Another few ounces and you’d be in real trouble. He shouldn’t have left you here like this.”

“I don’t think he knew it was this bad,” she murmured. “I was fine when he left. I went back to sleep and when I woke up I had the worst hangover of my life.”

“That’s one hell of a hickey you’ve got there. Eat.”

Miranda’s hand moved up to touch one of the bite marks on her neck, and a dreamy sort of look passed over her face before it was replaced by an acute pain that made her cover her eyes. “That’s not the worst part,” she said. “Earlier when I got out of bed . . . I felt so . . . depressed. Like I didn’t even want to breathe anymore. I still feel that way, just not as bad. If I knew how to get to the Haven from here, I’d have walked barefoot.” She wiped at her eyes. “I did something stupid—look.”

Miranda stuck out her tongue, and Faith saw a bright red cut. “How did you do that?”

She reached into her pocket and withdrew a familiar knife—carved into the shape of a bird of prey with an ebony handle and a folding blade serrated along its lower half. Miranda flicked her wrist and the blade snapped out, shining and lethal.

“There was blood on it,” she explained. “I licked it.”

Faith stared at her. “Jesus.”

“I didn’t even realize what I was doing. I saw the blood, and I just . . . needed it.”

“And how did you feel after that?”

“Aside from the fact that my tongue was bleeding? Wonderful, for a minute. Then I got freaked out and took a Xanax.”

“Can’t say I blame you. Look, Miranda, I know you feel like hell now, but as long as you eat and rest you should be much better tomorrow. You’ll probably feel better than you have in your life.”

“Does turning into a vampire suck like this?”

“Oh, it’s much worse. But if it’s done right you’re not aware of most of it. Right now the problem isn’t that so much as
whose
blood you drank—for one thing, the stronger your sire, the faster and more intense the change. For another, the two of you already had a connection, so this deepened it, and now you’re going through withdrawal.”

“God, how pathetic,” Miranda muttered. “I’m pining. I’m actually
pining
.”

“It could be worse. Some of us aren’t lucky enough to be turned by someone who loves us. Imagine if your sire forced you, then abandoned you, without even telling you the rules you had to live by.”

Miranda’s eyes widened in sympathetic horror. “Is that what happened to you?”

“No. That’s what happened to David.”

“God.” Miranda took a long drink from the half-empty water bottle at her elbow. “Did you love your sire?”

“No. I paid her. I loved the boy I changed for . . . but as it turned out, he didn’t love me, at least not for very long.” Faith sighed. “Remember how I said love wasn’t a good reason to become a vampire? I spoke from experience.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. And in the end, I was grateful. All of that misery brought me here, to the life I feel I was meant to lead. I just hope it’s easier for you.” She gave Miranda a long, searching look. “Are you sure . . .”

“Yes,” Miranda said, and despite the weariness in her voice there was also determination. “I never expected it to be easy. Nothing worthwhile ever is.” She took another bite of her burrito, then set the plate down, looking a little nauseated. “I know that if I do this, I’ll be where I belong . . . and everything I’ve been through will have some meaning.”

“Well, you’re going to need to make some arrangements—once you two decide when exactly you’re coming back, you’ll need to clear your schedule for a couple of weeks. You may have to stop performing—”

“No,” Miranda cut her off. “Music is the only thing that’s gotten me through all these years. My career’s just getting started. I’m not giving it up.”

Faith smiled at her. “You will need to take some time off, though. Even once the change is complete you’ll need time to adjust. So you might want to start talking to your manager about it now—invent some kind of surgery, maybe.”

“Good idea. Everyone dealt with my vanishing once. I don’t want to do that to them again.” Miranda looked thoughtful, and faintly dismayed. “I’m going to have to figure out what to tell Kat.”

“What cat?”

Miranda laughed. “Not a cat. Kat. She’s a friend of mine. I’m sure Lindsay has reported my going out with her a lot.”

“Oh, right—the woman with the dreadlocks. Yes, we know about her. And about the boy.”

“You mean Drew? I’m not so sure he’ll be coming around anymore. He probably won’t want to anyway. I think David scared the piss out of him.”

“I’m shocked,” Faith said wryly. “What did he do?”

“Threatened to kill him.”

“Of course,” Faith said. “How romantic. So, tell me more about this whole thing—what happened? After all that ‘I have to stay away for her own good’ bullshit, how did you two end up snacking on each other?”

Miranda got that dreamy look back in her eyes and pulled her knees up to her chin. “How much detail do you want?”

“Everything—just do me a favor and stay away from words like
throbbing
and
turgid
.”

She snorted. “Fine, but I will say this: Remember what you said about Hades being spectacular in bed?”

“Yes.”

“Well . . .” She turned bright pink. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Sunday evening Miranda woke all at once, with no eye-rubbing transition to wakefulness, and stared blinking at her bedroom ceiling for a full minute before she realized she could see in the dark.

The room was never a hundred percent black despite the heavy curtains—and layer of cardboard—she’d hung over the two windows; a little light always came in through the edges of the door. Still, she had never abandoned her nocturnal habits from the Haven, so she wanted it good and dark in her room during the day to let her sleep; usually the first thing she did once the sun was down was to snap on the bedside lamp so she didn’t have to blunder around and knock her shins on things.

This time, she opened her eyes to find that it was unusually bright, yet she knew nothing had changed while she slept. The light level in the room was the same as always . . . but she could see. Everything was blue and lavender and gray, but perfectly distinct.

She sat up and looked around, fascinated. She could read the spines of books across the room. She could read the print on the electric bill she’d tossed carelessly on her desk.

Her mouth went dry with momentary fear. Was this normal? Had she . . .

She got out of bed and walked, without stubbing her toe once, into the bathroom, where she didn’t have to turn on the light to see herself in the mirror.

She was still in the mirror. That was something.

David had said her senses would fluctuate. Was this how vampires saw? Everything was sharp and clear, and it was almost as if some things were more than three-dimensional.

Once she got over the newness of it and relaxed into the difference, she found she liked it. It was certainly going to come in handy reading music in dimly lit clubs.

She stripped off her pajamas—Mickey was getting pretty rank—and turned on the shower, and again found she was mesmerized, this time by the water raining down from the showerhead. If she concentrated, she could see individual droplets and watch the path each one took down the drain.

Shaking herself out of it, she got into the shower, but when she went to lather up her mesh bath sponge, the smell of her lavender body wash was so intense she nearly threw up. She capped the bottle and rummaged around in the miscellaneous half-used toiletries that cluttered her shower shelf, coming up with a travel-sized container of organic unscented soap that Kat had left when she spent the night back in January.

It still had a smell, but it was tolerable. She soaped herself up and, after considering her shampoo selection, used the same stuff for her hair.

Drowsy from the heat and steam, she wrapped herself in her bathrobe and wandered into the kitchen.

On the street outside a car alarm suddenly went off, and she shrieked and dove back into the hallway, hands clamped over her ears. Pain ricocheted off the inside of her skull.

She stared blindly into the fridge for a while. Nothing was remotely appetizing. She’d asked Faith to throw the pizza in the Dumpster when she left, and though there was technically plenty of food, she didn’t want any of it. The thought of eating made her stomach churn.

She settled for some saltine crackers and a bottle of Vitamin Water.

Her phone rang; she jumped again but this time didn’t panic. The ring wasn’t nearly as loud as the car outside had been. Her phone was where she’d left it on the table.

She saw who it was, and her heart leapt.

“Hi,” she said.

“How are you?” David asked.

“Better. But I can see in the dark.”

A pause. “You can?”

“Yeah. Everything’s blue. Is that normal?”

She heard him take a deep breath. “Not exactly. I think it’s another sign that we overdid it.”

“If you say so. I think it’s kind of neat, actually. I can’t wait to see what’s next.”

He laughed. “You are a rare woman.”

“I’m something, all right.” She sat on the couch, the sound of his voice making her toes curl, and said, “I wish you were here.”