Vampire Mine (30 page)

“Unless he gets so pissed by waking up Undead that he kills us all,” Phineas grumbled.

“I can‟t believe you‟re discussing this like a business decision,” Shanna yelled.

“Weighing the pros and cons while he‟s dying? He‟s my father!”

“Then what do ye think?” Robby asked. “Would yer father choose to be one of us? Or would he rather die?”

Shanna blinked. “I—” She looked down at her father, then back up at the Vamps. “Yes.

Yes, do it.”

The Vamps glanced at one another.

“What are you waiting for?” Shanna asked. “He‟s dying! Do it!”

Connor looked at Angus. “Ye do it. It was yer idea.”

“Nay, ye were the first one to suggest it. Ye do it.”

Connor glanced down at Whelan. Just the thought of sinking his teeth into the bastard made him shudder. “I‟m no‟ touching him.” He nudged Phineas. “Ye do it.”

“I don‟t even know how!” Phineas poked at Robby. “You do it.”

“Why me?” Robby turned to Angus. “Ye‟re the expert. Ye do it.”

Angus grimaced. “I‟m no‟ doing it. I hate the bugger.”

“Stop it!” Shanna screamed. “You— Forget it! I‟ll do it myself.”

“Shanna, you don‟t know how,” Roman said. He closed his eyes and groaned. “God‟s blood. I guess I have to do it.”

“You
guess
?” Shanna cried. “He‟s your father-in-law. Are you going to just let him die?”

“He threatens to kill me every time he sees me.” Roman knelt on the other side of Sean.

He leaned over him and shuddered.

“What‟s wrong?” Shanna asked.

“I‟m having trouble getting my fangs to come out,” he muttered.

Shanna touched his hair. “Do it for me.”

Roman hesitated. “I‟m trying.”

“He hates you,” Shanna said softly. “He told me he wants to plunge a hot poker through your heart and dance on your ashes.”

“Bastard!” Roman‟s fangs sprang out, and he sank them into Sean.

Marielle flinched. The other Vamps nodded with approval, but she looked away.

Connor pulled her to her feet. “Ye doona need to watch. Let me get ye out of here.”

“Will he be all right?” she asked.

“We willna know for sure until tomorrow night.” Connor led her down the street. “Ye look like ye‟ve been through a wringer. I‟ll take you back to the cabin. Ye can shower and eat.”

“I can‟t eat.”

“Then ye can rest.” He touched her cheek. “Ye did verra well, sweetheart.”

She shook her head. “I‟m afraid I‟ve ruined everything. The Archangels will never let me back into heaven now. I killed a living being.”

“Nay, ye killed a vampire, an unholy creature who was already half dead and attacking a mortal. Yer act of bravery may have saved Shanna‟s father.”

“I know he was a vampire, but he had a human soul, Connor, just like you. And I killed him! They‟ll never let me back into heaven.”

“Of course they will! So ye killed one nasty, murdering Malcontent. ‟Tis no‟ like ye slaughtered a dozen men in a fit of rage!”

She gasped.

He winced.
Bugger
. He‟d gone too far. “Come on. Let‟s go back to the cabin.” He gathered her in his arms so they could teleport.

“Wait.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that what you did, Connor? Is that the secret you‟ve been hiding?”

B
ugger.
She‟d never let up now. For a sweet angel, she could be very stubborn. Connor ignored her question and teleported them to the cabin.

“Off ye go.” He immediately herded her toward the bedroom. “Ye‟ll feel better after ye‟ve had a shower.”

“But I—”

“Hurry up! I need a shower, too. I‟m covered with blood and guts and dead vampire dust.” When she grimaced, he continued quickly, “I‟m no‟ fit to be around. So go!” He shoved her into the bedroom and closed the door.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the water running in the bathroom. How long could he keep this up?

He warmed up a bottle, then sipped the blood from a glass while he disarmed himself.

The battle had gone well. As far as he could tell, they‟d killed over half of Casimir‟s small army.

And with the exception of Sean Whelan, they‟d suffered no serious injuries.

It was a bloody shame they hadn‟t been able to save the mortals.

“Rest in peace,” he murmured and drank a toast in their honor.

He wandered into the kitchen and placed his empty glass in the sink next to the bottle. In the pantry, he found a can of soup, so he warmed it up in a pot on the stove. He set an empty bowl and a spoon on the counter, then heard the water turn off.

He dashed into the closet to find a clean T-shirt and pair of flannel pants, then peered into the bedroom. Empty.

He knocked on the bathroom door. “Are ye done?”

She peeked out with a towel wrapped around her.

“My turn.” He pushed the door open and sauntered inside. “Do ye have clean clothes?”

“Yes.” She motioned toward the bedroom.

“Good.” He maneuvered her out the door. “There‟s soup on the stove for you.”

“You know how to cook?”

“I know how to open a bloody can. See you later.” He closed the door.

“But Connor—”

He turned on the shower to drown out her voice. He stripped and stepped into the shower stall. How long could he stay in here? Three hours? He snorted.

Him and his big mouth.

He closed his eyes and let the hot water sluice down his body. He would just have to be firm.

“I confess nothing,” he whispered.

Images of that night flitted through his mind, but he shoved them away. What was the point? He‟d probably wasted a century of his existence, wandering aimlessly about while he wallowed in shame and regret. Eventually, he‟d tried to start over. He bought a small estate in the Highlands, far away from any mortals who would see him as a shameful creature. He teleported every night to a town like Inverness or Aberdeen to steal a few pints of blood. Then he returned to his home and roamed about the grounds. Slowly, the misery and loneliness drove him to despair.

He sought out Roman, who had sired him over a hundred years earlier. And that led him to Angus, and then Jean-Luc in Paris. Their struggle against Casimir became his own. It seemed that finally, his existence had a noble purpose.

But he could never escape what he had done.

With a sigh, he grabbed the soap. Poor Marielle. She felt guilty for killing one lousy Malcontent while he‟d lost count centuries ago of how many he had killed. And he never suffered any remorse for their deaths. Not when he considered how many mortals they had drained dry over the years. Besides, while he was killing Malcontents, they were generally trying their best to kill him, so it was a simple matter of self-defense.

He rinsed off. How easily he dismissed all those killings. So why was he so haunted by that one night in 1543?
It was wrong. Ye knew it was wrong, and ye did it, anyway.

He toweled off and pulled on the clean T-shirt and flannel pants. Then he hauled the laundry hamper into the kitchen.

Marielle was setting her empty soup bowl in the sink. Her long hair was loose and damp.

She was wearing plaid flannel pajamas.

“Did ye enjoy the soup?” He tossed the kitchen towels into the hamper.

“Yes, thank you. Can we talk now?”

“We need to do the laundry.” He dragged the hamper into the nearby utility room and tossed some towels and clothes into the washing machine. His chest tightened at the sight of her clothes mixed with his T-shirts and socks.

She followed him into the room.

He poured some soap into the machine. “Did the ladies show you how to do this?”

“No.”

He snorted. They had time to tell her about blow jobs and paint his fingernails pink. “Ye turn the knob here, then—” He froze when she leaned forward to watch, resting a hand against the machine.

Nothing happened.

“Then?” She gave him a questioning look.

Her touch no longer made something work? “Ye push the button here.” He started the machine. What had happened to take away her magical touch? Was the demon right when he said the longer she stayed on Earth, the more human she would become?

Bugger
. What if she ran out of time before he could get her back to heaven? A part of him didn‟t want her to go, but a bigger part cringed at the thought of failing her. He‟d failed everyone else in the past.

“Can we talk now?” she asked.

“Nay, we need to . . . load the dishwasher.” He padded into the kitchen and took his time rinsing everything in the sink before stacking it into the machine. He even scrubbed the pot he‟d warmed the soup in.

When he closed the dishwasher, she was waiting there, holding a mop.

She offered it to him. “Do you want to clean the floors now? And sweep the porch? I think the antlers on the moose head need polishing.”

“Are ye mocking me now?”

She leaned the mop against the kitchen cabinets. “I want to talk. I‟m sure you know what I want to talk about.”

“And I‟m sure ye know I doona want to talk about it.”

She tilted her head, studying him a moment. “Fine.” She turned and went into the bedroom.

He exhaled with relief. Was it really going to be that easy?

Less than a minute later, she exited the bedroom, carrying a blanket. She‟d added a jacket over her pajamas and fuzzy slippers on her feet.

No, it wasn‟t going to be easy. He folded his arms across his chest. “Are ye going somewhere?”

“I‟d like to go back to the meadow where we made love last night. You can teleport us there, right?”

“I . . . suppose I could.”

“Good. You owe me a blow job.”

“What?”

She gave him an impatient look. “You said you didn‟t get to taste me or make me come with your mouth. I assume that offer still stands?”

His groin tightened. “I—” He ran a hand through his damp hair. The clever minx was learning very quickly how to be human. “This is yer strategy, then, to trick me into talking? I‟m no‟ going if that‟s what ye‟re up to.”

She shrugged. “Fine. I guess you don‟t want a blow job, either.”

Seconds ticked by.

“I‟ll get my shoes.”

A minute later, they arrived at the green meadow nestled in the midst of forested mountains.

Marielle spread the blanket on the ground, kicked off her shoes, then stretched out, gazing up at the stars.

“Do ye have any idea how beautiful ye are?” he asked softly.

She propped herself up on her elbows. “Aren‟t you going to lie down?”

He sighed and kicked at the ground. “I‟m no‟ worthy of you. Ye know that. Ye‟ve already figured out the terrible things I‟ve done.”

“I‟ve done terrible things, too. I healed a child who grew up to become a serial killer.

And tonight, I ended a life.”

“In order to save another man‟s life. And ye healed that child out of compassion. Yer heart has always been good. Whereas mine . . .” He turned away.

“Are you ashamed? Is that why you refuse to talk about it?”

He snorted. “Shame and remorse weigh heavy on my soul, but they doona prevent me from living my life. They dinna stop me from falling for you.”

“Then why are you reluctant to talk to me?”

He swallowed hard. “I‟m . . . afraid.”

“Of being punished? Of going to hell?”

“Nay.” He turned to her. “I‟m afraid of losing yer love. Yer respect. I could bear anything but that.”

She remained silent for a while. “I believe I‟ve been insulted.”

“How?”

“You must think my love for you is very small. Shallow and . . . undependable.”

He stiffened. “I dinna say that.”

“Then try me. Give me a chance to prove myself.”

“And a chance for me to lose you?”

“You won‟t lose me.” She patted the blanket beside her. “Trust me. Please.”

With a heavy heart, he sat beside her. He‟d held the pain inside for so long, he hardly knew how to let it out. “If ye hate me, I willna blame you.”

She rubbed his back. “You‟ve hated yourself more than enough. I won‟t add to it.”

He bent his legs and folded his arms across his knees. Could she still love him? With a pang, he realized he‟d reached a point where he needed to know. He needed to put an end to the pain. And he needed the certainty of her love.

He took a deep breath. “I was thirty years old, proud to have my own land and a lovely young wife. But the land was along the border, and an English lord was claiming it for his own.

So in 1542, I went to fight at Solway Moss.”

“And that‟s when Roman found you dying?” Marielle asked.

“Aye. After he transformed me, he and Angus warned me no‟ to go home. They said my wife wouldna be able to accept me. That‟s what happened to Angus, ye ken. But I dinna listen. I went home, and my wife . . . she welcomed me.”

“That‟s good.” Marielle patted his back. “I‟m glad.”

He sighed. “At the time, I thought I was the luckiest man on Earth. There I was, a terrifying, bloodsucking creature, and she still wanted me. Now, I wonder if she really had any choice. She was six months‟ pregnant when I was transformed. Her parents were deceased. She had no other place to go.”

“I‟m sure she loved you,” Marielle whispered.

“ ‟Twould have been better for her if she had rejected me. The news spread through the local village, and the people feared for their lives and the lives of their children. I would work the field at night, but they would come and throw stones at me and yell at me to leave. I had to find secret places for my death-sleep so they wouldna try to kill me while I slept.”

“I‟m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “I drank blood from our livestock and worked hard on the farm. I thought after the babe was born, and the villagers realized I meant no harm to anyone, they would leave us alone. The night my wife gave birth, I was there to help her.”

He hugged his knees. “I will always remember the joy I felt, holding our wee babe in my arms. I thought my heart would burst. I fell into my death-sleep thinking no man could possibly be more blessed than I.”

He stood abruptly and walked away from the blanket.

“What happened?” Marielle asked.

“I awoke the next evening and rushed to the house to see how Fionnula and my daughter were faring.” He shut his eyes briefly as the memory flashed through his mind. “The men from the village had killed them both.”