Fallen Embers (8 page)

“How so?”

“A pottery shard is as good as a dagger in the right hands.”

“And how well would that serve you if thirst were your enemy?”

“We could argue this all night, but what's the use? We are not bowls. We are something far closer to daggers. Do you not know that, frequently, in those very places where bones have been broken, they heal stronger?”

“How do you stand it?”

The change of topic caught Georgia off-guard. She frowned. “How do I stand what?”

“How do you live with what's been done to us, what we've become?”

“Very easily, seeing as the only other option on offer is death. Besides, I choose to believe what I was told—'tis for our own good we were given this gift. That it is meant to erase our vulnerabilities and leave us nigh on invincible. There is pain, yes, and great suffering is involved, for us and for those we must kill, but no great undertaking was ever achieved without some effort. The end result is to rid us of our weaknesses and increase our ability to protect ourselves. For some, that might be reason enough.”

“And that satisfies you? You're content to
pretend
this is a gift? Content to have traded your soul for lies, perhaps a small measure of safety, and what you term strength?”

She shook her head. “Perhaps one such as yourself cannot appreciate what strength and safety might mean to someone like me. You were likely never made to feel truly vulnerable until the moment you were taken. I assure you that was not so for all of us. In my former life, I did not experience very much safety. I never knew what real security tasted like until I was made
Invitus
.”

Quintano's eyes narrowed. “You make it sound almost reasonable. As though it were a worthy goal, something to aspire to, something you might even have chosen for yourself. Perhaps I am wrong about you—or maybe I was right in my initial assessment. Perhaps I should have made an end of you that first night.”

His distrust hurt—even more than the insults, or the threats. Georgia hid the sentiment behind a disinterested expression. “Perhaps you should have done so—but you did not, and now we both know you won't. However, if your distaste for me has become so great you wish to quit my company, you are more than welcome to do so.”

Quintano shook his head. “
Would
you have chosen it?”

Again Georgia shrugged. “Did I choose to become
Invitus
? No. Do I think it was worth what I had to go through? I cannot answer that question, for in truth I do not know.”

“I cannot accept that answer!”

Georgia glared at him. “Why? And how dare you presume to judge me—after I took pity on you in your ignorance, after I've spent weeks attempting to assist you? I am doing you the courtesy of answering your questions as honestly as I can. The least
you
might do to show your gratitude is to keep the sneer from your lips when you speak to me.”

Quintano nodded. “You are right. And, for what it is worth, I am sorry. It is just… I cannot bear it, Georgia. Whenever I recall the horror of that process…it sickens me. I go a little mad, I think, and wish to lay waste to everyone and everything involved, to wipe them from the earth—myself included. To know that you've experienced some of the same horrors and yet can speak of them so lightly…”

“The process…” Georgia shook her head, unable to keep from shuddering at the memory. “No, it is not something to be taken lightly—and I assure you, I do not. Unlike you, however, I try not to
dwell
on it overmuch.”

Getting up, she began to pace, feeling for a moment as though she were back in that cursed cage where her very soul had been ripped apart, broken and then reformed. “What good does it do us to always be looking backward, or to think about what went before, what might have been, what once we were? We cannot change the past. No more than we can alter our destiny. In truth I find there's very little in this world that is truly ours to decide—naught beyond the present moment—and not always that. I do not know what I'd have done had I been given a choice. I don't think I could have chosen, freely, to walk that dark path, not had I known even a fraction of what it would entail. Indeed, there were times when I knew such despair, times when the thought of what I'd become, the depths to which I'd been forced to sink, filled me with guilt and disgust. Until I sounded quite like yourself, in fact.”

Quintano snorted quietly. A reluctant spark of humor touched his eyes. “Very distressing, to be sure. Almost as distressing as it must have been for your victims.”

“Now who's speaking lightly of it? You laugh, but that is no way to live. There is nothing to be gained from endless speculation, endless reproach. What's done is done. I will take what good I can find in it and rejoice. I am not dead. And my life now is, in many ways, far better than it was at any time previously. So I cannot truly say, with any certainty, that I know what I'd have chosen had I known
everything
, the good as well as the bad. Had I been able to see the entirety of what would transpire…? No. I cannot answer. I do not know.”

She gazed at him sadly. “It is so very easy for the strong to say, ‘I would never choose to be so weak.' But for those of us who were born powerless, who knew nothing but fear in our mortal form, it's a grievous temptation to be offered salvation. To be granted a measure of security very often seems to be paradise, no matter the heinous price one must sometimes pay for safety's sake. Perhaps it's just as well the choice is taken from us. To live with what we've done is hard enough. To live with the knowledge that we were so depraved we'd ask for such a thing?” She sighed. “Ah, well, perhaps I've over-thought the matter after all. Perhaps those who would willingly choose such a path are immune to guilt and suffer far less than those of us who fought it.”

Quintano said nothing for a moment. He stared off into the distance, his expression brooding. “I understand very little about these matters,” he said at last. “Indeed, if these past few weeks with you have taught me anything, it's that I know even less than I thought I did. I learned long ago to take nothing for granted, to trust no one, to take no one's word on anything—especially not the word of a…of a
vampire
. But if there's
anything
in this world of which I'm sure, it is this; you would
not
have made that choice. You are not the monster I mistook you for at our first meeting and I apologize for having so misjudged you. You give me hope. That is something I have not had in a very, very long time.”

“Thank you,” Georgia replied, swallowing hard. When his eyes met hers she glanced away quickly, before he could read her gaze and mark the confusion in it. Her emotions roiled within her. Her thoughts were equally turbulent. And that look on his face just now—hot, hungry, intense—made it even more difficult to think clearly or calmly.

Was it his words that moved her so? His faith in her character? Or was it something else altogether? Whatever the cause, she was finding it suddenly hard to breathe. Oh, how she wanted to be the person he believed her to be, to live up to all his expectations, to do whatever was necessary to keep him looking at her like that—always like that. Oh, how she wanted
him
.

The thought shocked her. Not because she hadn't already been considering it. She had, of course. But not like this. Up until now, she'd been thinking of it as a challenge, a form of entertainment—a short, relatively meaningless interlude intended to provide mutual satisfaction and an incentive for him to stick around for as long as she might need him. What she had in mind now was…well, what exactly? She didn't even know.

Still not meeting his gaze she walked back over to the log where he sat. Her heart was pounding as she seated herself beside him. She knew he could hear it, for how could he not? She took comfort in the fact that he likely had no way to interpret what it meant.

The beat of Georgia's heart was loud and insistent. As usual, Quintano had no idea what to make of it, but it blended with his own in a manner that was oddly pleasing. As she slid closer to him, he could feel the heat of her body brand him all along his side. For a moment he thought she might move even closer, thought she might lean against him, or even slip her hand into his. She didn't, of course, and he had to fight to suppress the disappointment her hesitation brought, the urge that arose within him—no, the
need
—to wrap his arm around her and pull her flush against him, to erase even the slight distance that remained between them. Her scent, as it washed over him, carried its usual warning: Vampire! But this time that knowledge came softly, as though it were whispered, rather than roared. This time it came nuanced, layered. That was only one aspect—a single facet—not the sum total of who she was.

And perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn't all he was, either.

“Did you wish to go in search of something else to eat?” she asked again after a moment had passed.

“No.”

She glanced behind her. “Then shall we change camp? Perhaps another location would please you more. Have you tired of this locale? Do you wish to move on?”

He shook his head. He liked their present location well enough. But, in truth, he couldn't contemplate any distance beyond the cave at their back, couldn't imagine any locale more enticing than the comfortable bedding she'd unrolled on which she'd been sleeping.

Up until tonight, he'd considered her insistence on such fripperies a nuisance. They were a burden, an unnecessary luxury, a dangerous dependence, far more comfort than either of them deserved. Now, however, he thanked the stars above for them. Thoughts of laying her out upon that downy softness filled his mind 'til he could think of nothing else.

Georgia sighed and glanced around once more. She seemed restless. Perhaps it was she who wanted to eat or to move on…or who knew what else? Perhaps the novelty of his company was beginning to wear on her nerves.

“There
is
something I want,” he said at last, unable to keep silent any longer. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “But it has naught to do with either food or a change of scenery.”

“Oh? And what is it then?”

“Something that, to be honest, I had never thought I'd want again.” Not until she'd taught him that he need not be a monster. And now…was it too much to hope that she might also remind him what it was to be a man? He let his gaze flicker over her, taking in full breasts, a narrow waist, rounded hips and thighs and arms. It wasn't that he hadn't noticed them before; he had, of course. It was just that now… How different, how delightfully different, it all seemed now that he was no longer looking at her as a loathsome creature not unlike his own mistress, not unlike himself.

Once, long ago—as a man—he'd taken great pleasure in the female form in all its myriad variations. He'd known nothing more beautiful, more satisfying, more heavenly. His more recent experiences had been almost enough to destroy his ability to respond to it. Almost. But not, perhaps, completely.

When his gaze returned to Georgia's face, he found her watching him closely, her expression inquisitive, her eyebrows raised, but she said nothing. Maybe she had no idea what he was hinting at, maybe she didn't want to know, or maybe—perhaps—she was simply waiting for him to make the first move. But that was something he could not do.

He could not risk losing her friendship—not for any reason. She had saved him from a life of untold misery. He would not repay her now by breaking the first promise he'd ever made her. He'd said he'd take nothing that was not offered and he'd meant it. He shook his head and smiled sadly. “It is something I dare not even name. Something that must be freely offered.”

“I see. And what would you do were such a thing to be offered to you?”

“I would treasure the opportunity and treat it as the precious gift I know it to be.”

“Oh.” At that she colored. A swift frown furrowed her brow. “Where is your honesty now, I wonder? Am I some coy maiden that you think you must use pretty words to seduce me? Do not imagine I am moved by them, sir. For you cannot expect me to believe that someone like yourself, someone with as much experience as I know you must have had over the centuries, would term so base an activity ‘precious'? Or have I totally misunderstood your meaning?”

Quintano shook his head. “'Tis your own words and actions of which I was thinking when I termed it such, and I stand by my use of the word. Wait, please.” He held up a hand, forestalling her protests. “Before you argue otherwise, as I see you are wont to do, allow me to explain. I have not forgotten your speech to me on the night we met, how strongly you emphasized that you would sooner die than give up your right to decide who you would allow into your bed. Were you to grant me that right, were you to choose me now, as I very much hope you will, I would consider myself honored indeed. And, if you are not amenable to the idea, then I pray only that you will not hold my desires against me or think you need fear me from this point forward. I gave you my word that I would take nothing from you that you did not wish to give. I would sooner die than betray either that promise, or your trust in me.”

Georgia took her time answering. She stared fixedly off into the distance. “So…you'd sooner die than take from me that which I did not wish to give,” she repeated at length. “Well, my friend, if that be so, 'tis a wonder you're not dead already.”

Quintano's heart sank. “It grieves me to hear you say so.”

“As well it should.” She glanced back at him then, eyes gleaming with emotion and a small, sad smile upon her lips. “For I assure you 'twas not my wish, nor ever my intention, to give even a piece of my heart away and yet it seems you have stolen it all, quite neatly and without any thought to whether or not I wished you to do so.” She shook her head in mock sorrow. “And if that were not enough, it seems you've made a liar of me as well. For I find I
am
moved by your pretty words. I am seduced and taken in, whether I'd have willed it or no. It has been a very, very long time since anyone has made me feel the way you do.”