The Last True Vampire (36 page)

Jenner pulled open the side door and Mikhail climbed in. Sunlight crept over the foothills, the bright yellow rays slicing across his forearm. Blisters boiled on his skin, and he locked his jaw down tight as he fought through the pain. It would heal in time. Right now his sole focus was Claire.

“Get them out of here,” Ronan called out to Jenner from the cover of the doorway.

Mikhail looked up as he remembered his promise to his mate. “There’s a human girl locked in one of the rooms, Ronan. Find her and protect her. I’ll send Jenner back for you.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Ronan’s gaze landed on Claire. “Take care of your mate.”

Mikhail gave a sharp nod of his head and Ronan turned, a flash of motion as he ran back into the house. Mikhail laid Claire down gently on the floor as Jenner slid the door shut, hopped in the driver’s seat, and took off. Her heart had nearly ceased its beating and Mikhail could no longer hear the sound of air in her lungs, nor of blood pumping through her veins. Seconds hung in the balance.

Barely an inch of skin had gone untouched by Gregor’s blade. As if the bastard had targeted every vein, giving Mikhail no place from which to drink. Did it matter? She’d left her life’s blood on that damned table, the price paid for tethering his soul to hers. Mikhail closed his eyes, blocked out the sounds of the engine, the roadway passing beneath the tires, even the beating of Jenner’s heart, as he focused solely on Claire. She had not a drop of blood left to spare.

Mikhail cradled Claire in his arms as he tore into his wrist with his fangs, opening the vein wide. He tipped her head back and her jaw hung slack, but he refused to acknowledge the possibility that it was already too late. The crimson rivulet poured over her teeth and coated her tongue. It pooled in her mouth. She wasn’t swallowing and Mikhail was gripped with panic as he paused in feeding her to work her throat with his palm, urging the thick blood to flow down her throat.

Still, quiet seconds passed and Mikhail prayed to any god that might listen that Claire’s life—and that of his child—be spared. “Don’t leave me, Claire,” he whispered close to her ear. “Please don’t leave me here alone.”

Her body seized. A violent spasm that bowed her back and contorted her limbs. Mikhail was reminded of the memory he’d found in the Collective. Of the human woman’s violent reaction to the vampire blood before it killed her.
No. No, no, no!
The word ran a loop in Mikhail’s mind, willing Claire to survive. To fight! She was the Vessel. His
mate
. “You will not die.” His declaration came from between his welded teeth, strained with unspent emotion. “I forbid it. Do you understand me?”

A glass-shattering scream tore from Claire’s throat, followed by several gasping breaths. Her eyes rolled back in her head, nothing showing but stark white as she thrashed and clawed, the deep cuts that marred her skin further tearing with each violent spasm. He hadn’t given her nearly enough of his blood. The wound on his wrist had already healed, but Mikhail opened it fresh. Even deeper this time, damn near exposing the bone. He pressed his bleeding wrist to Claire’s mouth and a low moan of relief replaced her agonized scream.

“That’s it, love. Drink.”

Her arms still hung useless beside her, but Mikhail kept his wrist at her mouth. She swallowed greedily and mewling sounds vibrated along his flesh. Another spasm rocked her and Claire pulled away, tearing at Mikhail’s skin with her blunt little teeth. He swayed on his knees, his vision darkening at the periphery. A rough shake of his head managed to clear some of the fog from his brain, but not much. Claire had nearly drained him, taken everything he had to offer. Whether she survived the transition or not was out of his hands.

Mikhail let loose an emotionless laugh when he realized that he had no choice but to leave her survival to Fate.

*   *   *

“Make it stop!”

Claire shot up from the bed, clawing at her throat. As though someone had force-fed her flaming charcoal, the unquenchable burn scalded her from the inside out. Vibrant colors burst in her vision, many of them foreign and nameless. New to her eyes and frightening. Her veins felt as if they were expanding, bulging against her skin until she felt too tight and uncomfortable in her own body. Someone smoothed her hair back from her face and she pulled away. Her sensitivity to even the slightest contact sent her into a state of sensory overload that pushed her composure to the breaking point.

“Don’t touch me!”

She scrambled away, eyes squeezed shut, until her back met the headboard. Her mouth was too dry; her ears, too full of sound. And her throat …
Jesus fucking Christ!
If someone didn’t put out the fire raging in her goddamned throat she was going to go ballistic!

“Claire, try to calm down.” The voice was firm yet warm-chocolate smooth, and it caused a ripple of pleasure to vibrate through her that made her moan. “You need to feed.”

Feed?
Yessss. A primal urge built inside of her. Like the craving for a really good cheeseburger times a trillion. Claire had never known such all-consuming hunger, and she’d gone hungry more than her fair share of times.

A delicious aroma hit her nostrils and Claire’s eyes flew open, only to slam back shut at the riotous assault of color. Whatever that smell was, she
wanted it
. Wanted it like her next breath. Wanted to bathe in it, roll around and coat herself in it. She’d go mad without it—

Strong arms encircled her, and Claire relaxed by small degrees. She didn’t dare look to see who held her, but his scent captivated her. Male. Though she wasn’t sure how she would recognize the fact. And this particular male belonged to
her
. She knew it like she knew her own soul. Felt him burning bright like a beacon inside of her.
Mikhail?
The name rang with familiarity. She knew this faceless man who held her. Cared for him.
But how?

“Claire, I want you to listen to me. Can you do that?”

Anything. She’d do anything for him if he kept talking to her. His voice was like a caress and she felt it on every inch of her skin. She tried to answer, but her throat was too dry, too consumed by fire, so she gave a curt nod of her head instead.

“Good.”
God, his voice.
She pressed her back tighter against his chest, gripped the strong arms that held her. “Dhampir blood won’t sustain you and I don’t know why. Likewise, my own blood hasn’t been enough to sate your thirst. We’re going to try something different, but you have to be gentle, Claire. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

No. Not even a little bit.
The delicious scent distracted her and Claire bit down on her bottom lip, surprised at the sharp sting that penetrated her skin.
What the hell?
Did she chip a tooth in her sleep? A drop of blood welled and she licked it away.
Oh. My. God.
This was what she wanted. But somehow, not. Confusion built until the frustration was almost more painful than the inferno in her throat. She needed to see her surroundings. Look at the man holding her. At least try to make sense of the situation.

She cracked one lid and then the other. Her eyes felt dry in their sockets, scratchy. The overload of her heightened senses threatened to pull her under once again, but Claire locked herself down. A good hustler never lost control. And she’d be damned if she let any situation get away from her.

How could a run-of-the-mill bedroom be so breathtakingly
beautiful
? Claire gasped. Everything was clearer. Sharper. And the colors! As though she were seeing the world for the first time, she wanted to weep in appreciation of it. Long fingers stroked her bare skin and Claire shuddered, momentarily distracted from the sights around her. Need coiled within her, and she let her head fall back on a strong shoulder. Sex became so much more important than the burning in her throat or the hunger that gnawed at her. In fact, she couldn’t get naked fast enough—

Low laughter rumbled at her ear and a pair of much larger hands came around hers, stopping her from stripping off her shirt. “Not yet, love. And certainly not with an audience.”

Audience?
Claire’s brow puckered as she looked up into the face of a god. Dark hair that brushed his brows, clear turquoise blue eyes. Cheekbones you could cut a steak with, the sexiest dimple in his chin, and full lips that she couldn’t wait to kiss. He smiled, revealing a row of straight white teeth and … fangs. Two sets, one longer than the other. The jaw of a predator. Claire reached up slowly, touched her fingertip to her lip and then the tooth she’d thought was broken. It curved into a perfect, razor-sharp point.

“Claire … try to stay calm.”

She moved before her brain could give the command. The mahogany dresser cracked as she practically flew from the bed straight into it and she leaped away, propelling herself into the far wall. “Holy shit! What in the hell is going on?”

Was that her voice? Claire reached up and palmed her still-burning throat. Her voice was lower. Huskier. With an undertone that vibrated her eardrums on a level that she didn’t think she should be able to hear. Not the way she remembered herself sounding. Adrenaline seeped into her bloodstream and she turned to face the man she knew as Mikhail Aristov. Claire’s legs gave out as a sharp pain shot through her skull, accompanied by the sound of thousands of whispering voices. With her hands clasped tightly over her ears, her gaze met his. “Mikhail, what’s happening to me?”

“The seers have seen it, Alexei, and the council is nervous. It could mean the evolution of a new species. They won’t allow it to happen.”

Through the vampire’s eyes Claire regarded the man sitting across from him, his fingers laced together on the worn oak table. Alexei scribbled something down on the blank pages of a large leather-bound book. The dark ink shone on the page and he scattered fine sand over the pages to encourage the ink to dry and set. “It’s impossible,” Alexei said, though he continued to put the other man’s word to the record. “A human could never be turned. Without being part of the bloodline, no human could be a part of the Collective. Your seers are wrong.”

“The Sortiari are never wrong,” the man replied. “This human will be a Vessel, Alexei. A source of great power.”

The vampire snorted. “The Sortiari have been keeping company with da Vinci for far too long, speaking of Vessels and untold power. Have you inducted him yet, Iago?”

The man—Iago—graced the vampire with an indulgent smile. “Leonardo’s place within the guardians of Fate isn’t your concern.”

“And yet, here you are. Why tell me at all about this Vessel if the Sortiari won’t suffer this so-called prophecy to come to fruition?”

“Out of respect for our friendship,” Iago said. “War is coming, Alexei. It could be years or centuries from now. None will be spared.”

The vampire leaned back in his chair as he contemplated his friend. “You would destroy us all based on conjecture?”

“I would not,” Iago stressed. “But it is not my decision to make. And neither are our prophecies based on conjecture. We are Fate, my friend. There is no escaping what will come to pass.”

“Oh no? You came here to warn me in the hopes that we’ll hide ourselves away. If I’m not mistaken, aren’t you trying to misalign Fate simply by coming here?”

Iago stood from his chair, his expression grave. “Don’t allow my goodwill to go to waste. Heed the warning I’ve given you.”

Alexei didn’t respond, simply watched his friend walk away. He dipped his quill in the ink and scribbled a single word on the vellum sheet: “Vessel.”

Claire surfaced from the memory on a gasp of breath. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest as the panic of disorientation overtook her. The call of ethereal voices threatened to pull her under once again and she drank in lungsful of breath as she prepared to be submerged yet again, drowned in visions she was helpless to escape.

Mikhail pulled away from the woman in his embrace, his lips stained with her blood. She was lovely. Mocha brown hair that surrounded her naked body in a wild tangle, dark eyes, and creamy skin. She slung one slender arm over his shoulder, tilting her head to the side as his tongue passed over the four puncture marks on her throat. A slow, contented sigh slipped from between her lips.

“What worries you, Mikhail?”

“Our lack of a tether.”

She answered with low, lazy laughter. “Do you wish to be tied to another in such a way? To be inextricably bound for the remainder of your existence?”

“I wish to have my soul returned to me,” Mikhail replied. He traced an intricate pattern that wound a path from the curve of her hip to the swell of one breast. “I wish to feel whole again. Yes, I want to be bound to another. Do you not wish to be whole, Ilya?”

“Perhaps someday,” she said on a wistful sigh. “But for now I am content.”

“And if I should find my mate? Or you find yours? What then, Ilya, if one of us should become tethered to another?”

“My soul will be full.” She leaned up and put her mouth to his. “But my heart will be broken.”

The scent of blood pulled Claire back into the present. Mikhail came into focus looking just as vibrant and youthful as he had in her vision. Beside him, a young woman stood with her arm outstretched, blood trickling from four punctures at her wrist. Clarity returned, along with the burning thirst that scalded a path up Claire’s throat. The woman smelled better than a box of hot Krispy Kremes and Claire was absolutely
starving
.

“Claire.” Mikhail’s warning tone gave her pause. A predatory growl echoed in the bedroom. Hers. “She’s delicate. Easy to harm. If you feed from her, you must handle her as though she’s a bird newly hatched from the nest.”

Claire nodded, unable to speak through the fire in her throat. Voices of the past tugged at her consciousness, urging her to return, but the blood held her rapt.