Downbeat (Biting Love) (28 page)

“Maybe.” My cheeks heated. My greatest failure—yet he saw it as a success? “All I knew then was that it worked. My despair lifted. I lost weight and became a more comfortable size. Although I’ll never be chic, I found a weight where I was at peace with myself. A comfortable place in life. With hard work, real friends, and a lot of luck, I got through.”

I straightened. His arms fell away. “But I want you to know I understand.” I couldn’t look him in the eye. “I understand you don’t want to…you know with me. What did you say? Playing at sex is one thing. I get that. I understand why you don’t want to make love with the likes of me.” My voice cracked on the words.

“Raquel, no. That’s not it. I can’t go into it but believe me, that’s not it at all.” With an unhappy laugh, he fell silent.

That wasn’t it? Of course that was it. What else could it be? I looked up to find the confirmation in his face.

His expression was as grim as I’d ever seen it and he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

It made me quixotically brave. “Man of La Mancha” unfurled in my brain. “Dragan, what’s wrong? It can’t be worse than the mess I just spilled.”

He was silent a moment longer. Then, with hesitancy that was painful coming from the normally confident conductor, he said, “I see how you turned your pain into beauty, into music, and…I am ashamed.”

He glanced up at me, an instant only. Horrors hid behind his eyes.

Automatically I reached for his hands, to comfort him.

He pulled away. “No. You don’t know what I’ve done. Who I was…and still am, underneath it all.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I didn’t understand why he was pulling away, putting an emotional wall between us not because I was inadequate but because somehow he was the unworthy one. “Your music is the most beautiful I’ve ever heard. You pull music from us. From me. You saved my life. You made my mother happy. Liese and Logan like you and trust you. Whatever you’ve done in the past—”

“I killed my family.”

All the music stopped.

My breath rasped in my ears. My heart thudded painfully. I managed, “What?”

“I killed my parents. My brothers and sisters. I didn’t want to say anything but, well, I guess you deserve to know.” His hands were fists on his knees.

I didn’t know what to say, uncertainty icing my brain, my throat. But I groped for his hands. They were so much bigger than mine. I settled for taking one fist and worming my fingers inside. I clasped his hand with both of mine and remembered what he’d said to me. “There’s more. Tell me, please?”

“You don’t want to hear—”

“Yes. I do.” I added, when he was still silent, “I told you my worst.”

“It’s hardly in league with what I’ve done.”

“Doesn’t matter. I told you my worst and you stayed. Let me do the same for you.”

He inhaled a surprised breath, eyes flying up to meet mine. A dozen conflicts raged in their dark depths: fear, confusion, shame, hope.

I ached for him. Squeezed his hand in encouragement. “Please?”

“If only to make you see how much better you deserve.” He took a deep breath. “My mother and father had a dozen children. But we were all close. I was surrounded by…by…” He fell silent again but his gaze clung to mine.

Surrounded by love
. He didn’t say it, but it was in his broken tone. “When was this, the 1700s?”

“Around 432 CE, more or less.”

I swallowed my shock. “Were Czechs even around in the fifth century?”

“We were Boii, hiding from the Romans. My parents were druids—although there might have been a Byzantine prince in my lineage.” Which explained his black eyes. “We passed down our training in secret. Even white practices could get you killed.”

My hand rose to my breastbone. “Did the Romans find you?”

He laughed, dark. “I wish it had been merely the Romans. No, something else found us.” He paused. His other fist fell from his knee, as if it had suddenly become too heavy to keep up.

“Dragan, what’s wrong?”

“It wasn’t pretty, Raquel.” His rich voice broke on my name. He swallowed visibly.

I gave the hand I held a squeeze.

He inhaled a bushel of air, letting it out slowly. “I was eighteen. Mother and Father were away for a month, communing with other tribes. They’d left me in charge. I was performing a ritual in the sacred grove. Eighteen, eldest druid in the grove, and I thought I knew it all. Thought I’d seen it all.” Another dark laugh.

“What happened?”

“Neighbors came to me. They said a vampire was rampaging through the province, leaving a trail of blood and death. They looked to me for guidance. And I…I
laughed
.” His eyes clenched momentarily. “Do you know what I said to them? I can still remember my exact words.” His eyes opened but I didn’t think he was seeing me.

I simply waited.

“I said, ‘Rumors? A hoax, more like. Rumors can’t hurt you, friends.’ And then I turned my back on them.
Turned my back
. When my parents returned, I said nothing.” He went silent again, the mirror hardness to his unseeing eyes screaming that the scene he was reliving was brutal.

I didn’t want him to relive it alone. I leaned in and kissed his forehead.

He turned to me, surprised blinks swiping out a tear which trickled down his strong cheekbone. “Sorry.” He wiped his cheek with a jerk. “Not much more.” The hand in mine tightened, hesitantly, almost as if it were making the decision instead of him. “That night the vampire came. He slaughtered the entire village. My whole family. Brothers, sisters, mother and father. And me.

“Only I rose.” He swallowed, the strain on his Adam’s apple clearly visible. “It was my fault, Raquel.” His eyes shut briefly. “Oh God. It was my fault.”

My heart broke for him. I wrapped my arms awkwardly around his shoulders and squeezed.

“I don’t think I ever admitted that before. Not to anyone.” His eyes opened to stare at the door, his gaze overly bright. “Not even myself.”

He’d never told anyone. He’d lived alone with the horror, the guilt. I tried to reassure him with my tight clasp.

But he gently disengaged himself. “Unlike you, I didn’t create beauty out of my tragedy. I went roaming, stunned and numb. When I came to myself I was in Italy, face to face with a hook-nosed man with a thirst for conquering. Attila brought me in on his rampage. I was angry, furious, and I took it out on everything and everyone around me.”

He looked so lost, so alone. I grabbed his face and turned it to me. “You were dealing with a stupendous loss.”

“It doesn’t excuse me.” He took my hands gently from his cheeks and deposited them in my lap, but at least now he didn’t look away. “I spent the next decades drinking and fighting and seducing…as a fucking diversion.”

“Sometimes the best you can do is try to make it through the day.” I couldn’t imagine the weight of the dark burden he’d carried for centuries.

“Eventually I met Richard Wagner and fell in with his crowd. Music soothed me in a way all the other pursuits couldn’t. I do take my work seriously.” He shook his head and stood. “But now you know. I’m a disgusting monster—”

“No, Dragan, never.” Inside I cried for him, for the boy he’d been, for the man he’d had to become just to survive. “I’m honored you told me. And now that you’ve told me we can—”

“We can’t.” His eyes were on the bed and even I could read the regret there. “If ever there were a woman I’d want to with, it would be you. But I won’t risk that.”

He strode to the door then turned. “I’m glad I told you though.”

He left, shutting the door softly behind him.

I sat on the bed as my skin cooled. Clothes came for me, jeans and a plain dark sweater. Gum-soled, supple shoes.

I dressed slowly, trying to come to grips with everything as I took off the beautiful jewelry he’d given me and laid it on the nightstand. He’d refused intercourse but it wasn’t because of me. He’d heard my worst and accepted it. I transferred my necessities from the little evening bag to the jeans’ pockets.

He’d rejected making love with me not because he didn’t care, but because he cared too much. Problem was, in those few moments of unabashed lovemaking with him, I’d had a taste of living.

I turned toward the door and caught a glimpse of a woman in the mirror next to it. Her hair was a tousled mess from loving fingers. Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes sparkled. The woman in the mirror had no glasses.

But finally, tonight, I knew she was me.

Dragan had said no. I wondered if the Rocky in the mirror, with so much life and love in her eyes, had a chance to turn that into a yes.

I came out of the bedroom to find Dragan, fully dressed in dark jeans and shirt, on his phone, pacing. His hair was tied back, only the silver lock escaping to fall over one eye.

He ended the call and turned to me. “I have work that must be done. I’ve arranged to take you to Steel’s for safekeeping.”

“I’m being stashed away?” I followed him out. “Was that Logan on the phone now?”

“Yes.”

“And before?”

“Before…? Ah, yes. I was reporting to my client.”

He’d arranged to have his Lambo brought to the hotel. He handed me into the passenger seat and peeled out. The newfound rebellious streak in me decided one day I’d be the one driving.

On the way, his phone rang. The car must have had an intelligent personal assistant twinned with the phone because he instructed it to pick up.

“Mr. Zajicek?” It was a woman on the speaker, her voice dark with anxiety. “It’s Karolina Liska. You said I could call if I needed your help…I don’t know where else to turn.”

“Of course I’ll help,” he said instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“Jakub. My son. He didn’t come home when he was supposed to, and when I call him he doesn’t answer. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m afraid that…oh God.”

“Slowly, Karolina. What do you fear?”

“I think he’s gotten involved with some bad people. Drugs. Maybe even dealing.” The last was almost a whisper.

“Don’t worry. I am in the area. I’ll find Jakub and return him safely to you.”

He ended the call. “It appears I must take a detour before delivering you to Steel.”

“Of course.”

“No questions?” He raised black brows at me. “A woman calls asking me a favor and you have no questions?”

“There’s a boy in trouble. Questions can wait.”

Fierce joy lit his face. “You are one in a million, Raquel.” He sobered. “It’s because of a promise. Karolina and Jakub are the last descendents of my household.”

“You have a household?”

He glanced at me. “Not now. In the 1400s, when medieval mobs burned you first and asked questions after. I gathered a household of humans to offset suspicion and promised protection to them and their progeny in return. It’s a simple promise.”

A simple 600-year-old promise.

 
I said, “How will you find him? Chicago isn’t small.”

“If he is within a few miles of me I can locate him—I can find anyone whose blood I’ve tasted if they’re close by. I’m driving to the Liskas’ neighborhood. I’ll pick him up from there.”

“You’ve tasted Jakub’s blood?”

“No. Sixteen is too young. But I renew the bond with each successive generation and I’ve tasted his mother. Jakub’s smell/taste will be familiar to me.”

It occurred to me that he’d tasted my blood. “Does that mean you could find me?”

He cut a single searing hot look at me. “Oh yes.”

I clutched my seat.

His face sharpened. “I can detect him now.” Five minutes later he pulled the car to the curb. “We walk from here.”

He took my hand as I got out. He glided silently along the sidewalk toward the mouth of a darkened alley. I tried to walk behind as softly as possible.

As we approached I made out two forms, both in jeans and hoodies. A small plastic bag and cash changed hands.

Then the larger form bent threateningly over the smaller and pushed its hood back, revealing a teenage boy.

Dragan’s nostrils whitened. “
Sakra
. He’s with a Lestat vampire.” He dropped my hand and rushed into the alley. I ran after.

The boy bared his neck to the gleaming fangs of the looming vampire. Acid fear blanched my veins.

The Lestat bit down. The boy didn’t cry out. He must have been under the vampire’s mental compulsion.

“Let him go, Scythe.” Dragan grabbed the vampire and pulled him off the boy. The boy just stood there, blood pulsing in twin threads down his neck.

The Lestat jerked out of Dragan’s grip, revealing a beefy, tomato-nosed face with toothpick fangs, like a prize-fighter vamp wrapped in a black hoodie. Eyes gleamed malevolently. “Go the fuck away.” He had a brutal voice to go with his face. “The boy is mine.”

“That boy is mine.” Dragan snarled, revealing fangs twice as long and three times as thick as the Lestat’s. “Leave him
now
.”

“Shit, okay.” Scythe’s hands jerked up in surrender.

Dragan spit on his fingers and slapped them on the boy’s neck wounds. The trickles slowed and began to scab over.