A Vampire's Soul (7 page)

I
had promised Anasztaizia I would get some rest, but it was a promise I knew I was going to break the moment I said the words. Sleep was out of the question. I might be tired physically, but mentally I was Red Bull six-pack wired.

The first order of business was to try to get a handle on the information dump I'd been given, put it in some sort of perspective. Hah! Easier said than done. The more I sifted through all I'd been told, the more I realized just how totally unprepared I was to deal with this newfound knowledge. My inadequacy would be laughable if it wasn't also completely terrifying. I found myself jumping at every sound I couldn't immediately identify. Each creak and groan the house made as it settled, noises I'd heard all my life, now sounded sinister.

I set about tidying up the kitchen. After washing and rinsing our mugs and the coffee carafe and filter basket, I set them to dry in the draining rack. Next I rearranged the chairs around the table so everything was back in its proper place. Then I spent the next half hour or so moving aimlessly from one room to another, picking up this, putting away that. Being able to sense Gabriel's presence in every room wasn't helping my well-being. If anything, it only added to my anxiety. His presence surrounded me. Somehow he'd managed to saturate every space in my house with his essence. I could say, with all honesty, that I had no idea how I was going to react when we next came face to face, but I knew such an encounter was a foregone conclusion. It was simply a matter of when it happened, not if.

I desperately needed to talk to someone. Anasztaizia was a wonderful woman, but let's be honest, when your boyfriend is six-and-a-half-feet of hulking Russian vampire, your opinion is bound to be a tiny bit biased. I'd never needed Laycee so much, but reaching out to her was impossible. What would I say? There was no way to spin this and make it sound believable, and Laycee could always tell when I was hiding something. She wouldn't rest until I spilled absolutely
everything
to her in full detail. No, it was better to leave my best friend out of this. Probably safer as well, and I meant that in a very real way.

So it made perfect sense to seek refuge in my dad's room. It was the one place that Gabriel had never been.

The faint trace of Old Spice aftershave took me by surprise as I opened the door. It was so slight I doubt anyone else would notice it—anyone human, that is—and it brought a hauntingly familiar ache to my heart. But as I opened myself up to the expected sharp pang of grief, I couldn't help noticing it was not so overwhelming as usual. Was that time working its own brand of healing, or something being with Gabriel was responsible for? Was I moving on? I shook my head. Gabriel's influence on anything remotely connected with my dad was not something I wanted to think about just now.

How long was it since I had last been in this room? Early spring maybe? I seemed to recall throwing open the window so the room could get a good airing, so . . . yeah, definitely before I'd met Gabriel. I slowly turned the brass knob that opened the closet where my dad had kept his clothes. About a year after he'd died, with the help of Laycee and her mom, I'd bagged up nearly everything and taken it to Goodwill. But I couldn't bring myself to part with his work shirts or his heavy winter jacket. I think most people who've lost someone they love keep mementoes, things with a strong emotional attachment.

Reaching for the shirt closest to me, I took comfort in the feel of the heavyweight fabric in my hand. The cuff was frayed, and each elbow showed signs of wear. A loose thread on the second button down threatened to release its charge. I took a mental inventory of the contents of my sewing box, searching for dark blue thread, and my vision blurred. My dad wasn't going to care if the button was missing. Sometimes the most ordinary things can elicit a memory, especially if the need is great enough. In this case, it was a button on a washed-out denim shirt.

I pulled the shirt off the hanger and slipped it on. It was too big, of course. My dad was long and lean. Rangy I think is the word best used to describe his build. His shirts didn't swim on me the way Gabriel's did, but the sleeves still reached my fingertips, and the hem fell below my hips. Turning my head into the collar, I sniffed, but any scent of my dad had faded long before. It made no difference. Knowing he had been the last person to wear it was enough. It brought me closer to him.

“I'm here for you, Baby Girl,” my father's voice whispered in my head, “and you can always talk to me.”

So I did.

Although my dad was very easy to talk to, I think we were both grateful that he'd never had to have
The Talk
with me. Sex Ed classes in my high school were fairly comprehensive and covered a whole lot more than anything offered when he was a teenager. Any additional questions Laycee's mom was more than willing to answer. She also took me bra shopping, and as luck would have it, my first period began during a sleepover with Laycee. The sudden appearance of a box of tampons in the bathroom reassured my dad that I was developing normally.

But getting a free pass on the physical stuff didn't mean my dad was off the hook entirely. He got the joy of dealing with pimples, emotional meltdowns, and more angst than any teenage girl should be allowed to express. My hormonal outbursts were always dealt with on the porch swing, and always began with my dad saying, “Tell me what happened, Baby Girl.”

And so I'd pour out my heart to him, and he would listen solemnly to whatever foolishness guaranteed an Oscar-worthy performance in histrionics. It didn't matter if my melodramatic outburst made absolutely no sense. I just needed to vent about the injustices of my life, both real and imagined, while seeking assurance there existed on the planet one adult who would always be on my side. No matter what. And my dad was smart enough to know this. Even when the subject matter was a bewildering catalog of events he couldn't possibly be expected to navigate, his actions told me that my hurt feelings were all that mattered.

Not being picked for the cheerleading squad.
Lacking overall gymnastic skill. I never asked to be the top of the pyramid, okay?
Failing my driver's test the first time.
Seriously? How many sixteen-year-olds actually parallel park?

Steve Barnett admitting he only kissed me because of a dare.
Shit! And to think I also let him put his hand inside my shirt and cop a feel.

My dad offered his opinion only when it was asked for, which wasn't often because, let's be honest, teenagers don't want answers. All their problems have implications that are way beyond the grasp and understanding of anyone outside their peer group. How could any adult, especially a parent, empathize?

But one look at my face after the crushing Steve Barnett humiliation had been enough. Arms around me, my dad had comforted me as only a father can—with the absolute belief that Mr. Barnett was raising a complete asshole who would never be good enough for me.

“How will I know, Daddy,” I sobbed, “when it
is
the right guy?”

“Because you won't need to ask me,” he'd said, his large calloused thumb wiping away my tears. “You won't need to ask anybody. Your heart will tell you he's the right one. Always trust your heart.”

Now, lying on the same bed where my father had once loved my mother, and where I had possibly been conceived, I wondered what advice my dad would have given me about Gabriel. The conversation inside my head seemed very real.

I don't know, Daddy.

I thought so, but now I'm not so sure.

It's not saying anything.

I am listening, Daddy, but I don't think . . . he can't be the right one!
Why not?

Because Mr. Right isn't supposed to have a set of choppers that could shame a pit bull.

That . . . it wants what it wants.

So you're saying the decision is mine?

Emerging from a cocoon of memories, my face wet with tears I hadn't realized I'd cried, I was absolutely certain of one thing. Vampire or not, my father would have liked Gabriel very much.

Of course, there was still one troubling aspect that his ghostly presence couldn't help me with. This belief that Gabriel and I were bound to each other through some archaic ritual. That I was promised to him. What was it he'd told me?

You are a Vampire's Promise . . . given by word . . . accepted by deed . . . bound by ritual to keep safe that which has been surrendered
.

I had no idea what any of it meant. Perhaps breaking it down, line by line, I might get a better insight.

Okay, this was easy enough. Gabriel was the vampire, therefore I was the Promise. Although how a promise can be an actual person was something I didn't quite grasp. Still, the only vampires I knew all believed it was so, as did Anasztaizia, who was human.

Whose word? If it was mine, then I had pledged myself unintentionally and with no idea of what the consequences might be. And going on the assumption that I had given my word to Gabriel, it was hard to recall any conversation between us in which anything I said could be misconstrued for a solemn vow. Surely I couldn't be held responsible for what I murmured, and sometimes yelled, in the throes of passion. My brain and vocal cords had a hard enough time working in sync around him when he wasn't trying to turn me on.

Now this was tricky. The only action that could possibly account for this would be when I bit Gabriel. That definitely classified as a deed, and it was one that still mortified me because I had no way to explain my bizarre behavior. And in light of Gabriel's recent coming out of the coffin, his wish to carry a permanent reminder of the event now took on a strange, and mildly troubling, significance for me.

And bound by ritual to keep safe that which has been surrendered.
This was the part that had me completely bewildered. Both the ritual and the surrendered parts. Unless I had been drugged with something that had a very selective amnesiac effect, I was fairly certain I would remember taking part in any ceremonial rite. Unless of course it had happened when I was a baby, although my mother, for reasons my dad never told me—assuming he even knew himself—had been dead set against my being christened or baptized.

As for the surrendered part . . . I was going to give myself a headache if I kept chasing that one. If it was something that belonged to Gabriel, why would he give it to me to keep safe? And, more important,
when
would he have given it to me?

I recalled a moment not long after he'd come back into my life when he tried to give me a gift. Inside the black jeweler's box he slid across the kitchen table was the most exquisite bracelet. Embedded in links of heavy gold were the most amazing chocolate-colored pearls. I'm not a fan of gold or pearls or jewelry in general, but this was unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was exotically beautiful, and my fingers itched to lift it from the nest of pale satin and feel the weight around my wrist. But, hard as it was, I closed the lid and slid the box back across the table to him.

With a look of curious resignation, Gabriel picked it up. He didn't ask for a reason, and I never offered one, but he knew. It was too much, too soon. Although he later proposed replacing the POS—my piece of shit car—with a new Hummer, an offer I didn't take seriously, he never tried to give me another gift. So far. What could I have that might belong to him? And why would he trust its safekeeping to me?

Trying to come up with a plausible explanation was starting to give me a headache. Closing my eyes, I ordered my brain to stop asking questions I couldn't answer.

M
y body's expectation of sex was Gabriel's calling card to me. Even in my dreams. An all-too-familiar heat roused me to the edge of wakefulness, making me scissor my legs as I kicked the quilt off. I felt feverish, and my forehead and upper lip were both dotted with beads of sweat. Searching for relief, I pulled up my T-shirt and offered my flushed skin to the cooler air above the rumpled covers. It made little difference. My heart could compete with a jackhammer, it was beating so fast, and I pressed the heel of my hand against my breastbone, as if somehow that would slow the frenetic pace. All I accomplished was the release of a sound trapped in my throat, a groan of frustration carried on a wave of need that was unlike anything I'd felt before.

I swept my hand over my breast, and my nipple erupted at the contact. I couldn't remember ever being so aroused. I was needy, achy, and wet between my thighs. Whatever I'd been dreaming about must have bordered on the pornographic. Too bad all I could recall was the feel of skin on skin, the silky brush of hair, and the taste of a sinful tongue.

I made myself take a couple of long, slow breaths, realizing, as my heart decided not to send me into cardiac arrest, that my mouth was dry. It was the same parched feeling I got whenever I was trying to catch my breath, like right before Gabriel tipped me over the edge and I climaxed. I licked my lips . . . and heard a very different sound. One that wasn't supposed to be in my bedroom in the middle of the night. At least not right now.

My hand went to snap on the bedside lamp that wasn't there. Sleep-fuddled, I stared at the nightstand, looking for the missing light a few moments longer before waking up enough to grasp that this wasn't my bedroom. I'd fallen asleep on my dad's bed. The fact that I'd had an erotic dream while sleeping on his bed struck me as indecent. I sat up, my feelings of guilt amplified by the sight of Gabriel standing in the doorway.

I tried telling myself he was a figment of my imagination, conjured up by an overactive libido. But then I caught his scent—a familiar blend of winter forest and snow, all mixed together with a mystifying something else I couldn't name but recognized as being uniquely Gabriel. And I knew he was no mirage.

“W-what are you doing here?” I asked, the dryness in my throat making my voice husky.

He stepped toward me, and I scuttled back up the bed until I felt the headboard against my back. The sight of him transported me back to the monstrous mansion Katja had taken me to, and I was standing once again inside that awful room, a room bathed in candlelight and boasting a bed with erotically carved posts and black satin sheets. A bed not meant for resting tired muscles or relaxing a weary mind. If ever a bed was made for one specific purpose, it had been that one. It was a bed made for fucking and nothing else. And so was the woman who came with it.

A picture of carnal lust with long blond hair, she gave her voluptuous figure to Gabriel without hesitation. Or so I assumed. All I could see in my mind right now was the sudden spray of arterial blood that arced from the wound in her neck, and the frozen look of fear on her face. How quickly her expression had changed from anticipated pleasure to horrified panic as she realized what had been done to her. The promise of ecstasy had been a lie, and now the life force was flowing out of her with each frantic beat of her heart. And she was helpless to prevent it. With her blood staining his chest and mouth, a mouth I once thought I would never get tired of kissing, Gabriel had held my gaze and admitted the truth about himself.

And this was also true.

Here, in my dad's bedroom in the middle of the night, I finally accepted that. The man I had given myself to, the man I had secretly fantasized a future with, the man I wanted to grow old with . . . wasn't really a man at all. And somewhere, deep in a forgotten corner of my mind, a memory struggled to break free. It urged me to accept the truth about Gabriel. And as I did so, another truth was revealed. It didn't change a thing, God help me! I'd loved him before consciously knowing he was a vampire . . . and I still did.

Stepping slowly into the room, he held a glass of water in his hand. Carefully he placed it on the nightstand before turning to look at me. His expression conveyed how hurt he felt by my need to put physical distance between us. I watched as he parted his lips, not enough to smile but enough for me to see the tips of his fangs, and I saw his normally smooth brow furrow slightly. I could tell myself all night long that I had nothing to fear from him, but somewhere deep inside my intellect, the message hadn't been received. My innate sense of survival saw only a predator and was trying to protect me in the best way it knew how.

“You are afraid of me,” Gabriel said in a voice that did nothing to indicate his mood.

“You st-startled me,” I stammered. “I wasn't expecting to see you.”

“No? You surprise me.”

My heart had revved itself back up to jackhammer mode. Thanks to my newly acquired knowledge of vampires, I knew Gabriel would have no difficulty detecting the accelerated rhythm. I tried calming myself, silently pleading with my heart to slow down. But it ignored me as usual. If my brain wasn't excited about seeing Gabriel, my body definitely was. I took a deep breath, and looked at him. God—he was magnificent!

“What I meant to say was, I didn't expect to see you tonight. If I'd known you were coming, I wouldn't have gone to bed.”

“Why are you sleeping in your father's room?” he asked, his glance taking in the rumpled bed covers.

I shrugged, unsure of how to explain my need in a way that wouldn't hurt his feelings any more than I already had. I opened my mouth and then closed it again. No matter how I put it, it was going to come out wrong. Gabriel shrugged and moved back to stand in the open doorway.

“It doesn't matter. Your reasons are your own.” There was a reserve to his manner, an aloofness I didn't like, and then he surprised me by saying, “I should go.”

“I think we need to talk,” I said, speaking quickly before I lost my nerve. His offer to leave was the last thing I expected. “Only not in here.”

“Of course.”

I waited until he stepped out of the room before moving. Getting up, I hastily straightened the quilt I'd kicked off and picked up my dad's shirt from the floor. I must have shucked it off during my erotic dream. Still mortified by my fantasy, I felt my face burn with shame. It didn't matter that I couldn't control what I dreamed about. It had happened and I was going to have to live with it. Picking up the glass of water Gabriel had brought me, I eased my parched throat.

It was my intention to have this conversation in the kitchen or living room, but Gabriel stood at the top of the stairs, effectively blocking the way. He was challenging me, daring me to admit I didn't have enough control over my feelings to risk talking to him in the intimacy of my bedroom. It struck me that I had no idea how long he'd been watching me in my dad's bed. Had he heard me moan? Did he know the reason why? I refused to be intimidated by him and decided to call his bluff. I turned and walked directly into my bedroom, feeling his gaze on me as I went.

I switched on the lamp on my night table and turned around to see Gabriel had made no effort to come any farther than the doorway. He leaned up against one side of the doorframe, looking at me. I sat on the edge of my bed and saw him glance at the clock next to the lamp.

“I'm sorry,” he said, “I didn't realize how late it was.”

“No matter,” I said, dismissing his concern.

“Did you find Aleksei helpful?”

I don't know why his question threw me off track. I should have expected it. “Yes. He was very nice to me.” A warning flashed in Gabriel's eyes, and I recalled Anasztaizia's caution about the possessive nature of vampires. Male vampires in particular. I needed to make sure there was absolutely no misunderstanding what Aleksei had been doing while inside my house. “He answered my questions, Gabriel, nothing else.”

“Did he answer all of them to your satisfaction?”

“No,” I admitted, “some of them he couldn't answer, and some of them he wouldn't answer.” I waited for his reaction and watched as the glow in his eyes began to diminish. “He did nothing wrong, and if you thought it was going to be a problem, then you shouldn't have sent him to me.”

“If I didn't trust him, I wouldn't have,” Gabriel said in a low voice.

“Then what's the problem?”

“It's difficult for me . . . knowing you were with someone else.”

“But I was not
with
anyone else!” I protested hotly. “Besides, Anasztaizia was here.”

“She was?” He seemed both surprised and relieved by this news.

“Yes, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't give her a hard time about it. I don't think I could have dealt with Aleksei by myself.”

“Oh, I didn't realize.” He was humbled by the unexpected tartness of my tone. “You must know I have never questioned your fidelity.”

Gabriel might not have been questioning my fidelity, but he sure needed reassurance about something. Still, it was nice to know he didn't think I was a bed-hopping slut. Shifting position, I sat cross-legged and pulled a pillow into my lap. I needed something to do with my hands, and fussing with the decorative edge of the pillowcase seemed a good way to occupy them.

I stared at him. He was here for something besides conversation, and it wasn't that difficult to work out what. The strain each bicep was putting on the sleeves of his T-shirt told me his body was zinging as much as mine. It made me wonder whose self-control was in question. Asking about Aleksei was ridiculous. I was certain he was fully aware of every question I'd posed, along with every scrap of information Aleksei had given me. But his surprise over Anasztaizia's presence had seemed genuine enough, so maybe the big guy hadn't told him everything.

Keeping his voice low, and his expression absolutely neutral, he asked, “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

I took a moment or two to gather my thoughts, needing to make sure I was completely awake and not sleep-muddled in any way. I certainly hadn't been expecting my face-to-face with Gabriel to happen this soon, not when I was still reeling from the effects of a highly erotic dream. I might not remember any details, but I had no doubt whom I'd been dreaming about. And my present condition may not have been consciously orchestrated by Gabriel, but he would have no qualms about taking advantage of it if I let him.

“I'm not afraid of you,” I said.

God knows I ought to be, but I wasn't. Gabriel was a supernatural creature, one who, by design, preyed on humans. But he had never once tried to harm me—unless almost making me pass out from multiple orgasms counted. In truth, he'd had plenty of opportunities to hurt, maim, or even kill me, and I'd never once felt even mildly threatened by him. If anything, I was the one who'd laid some pretty damaging physical trauma on him. And he still had the scar to prove it, much to my chagrin.

And knowing he was a vampire? Frankly I'd been more frightened seeing Aleksei on my doorstep than I was right now. Although, in all fairness, that might be because I'd not had sex with the Russian.

“That's good to know,” Gabriel murmured quietly from the open doorway. “I never want you be afraid of me, Rowan.”

“Oh, don't misunderstand me. I'm terrified by what I now know you're capable of ”—thanks to my current enrollment in Professor Aleksei's Vampire 101 class—“but I'm not afraid of you. There is a difference.”

Frowning slightly, he considered my words, and then, appreciating the rationale, graced me with a truly relaxed smile. It lit up his face, and his dimple winked sexily at me. “So . . . what do you want to ask me?”

I thought it important to deal with the obvious first. “I guess you really are a vampire, huh?” I said.

“Yes, I really am.”

From his tone of voice he could just as easily have been admitting he was a Seventh Day Adventist, or had been born in Latvia, or only ate meat the third Sunday after the vernal equinox. It was strangely deflating, and I felt a little let down. Truthfully, I'd been expecting something
more
with his admission. Lightning, peals of thunder, and demonic laughter from outside the window would not have been amiss.

Gabriel was a creature that could take a life as easily as drawing breath. I know, I'd seen him do it, but all I could focus on at this precise moment was the fact he was also the lover I'd been waiting for. And I think that said more about me than it did him.

“You must believe me, Rowan, this was not how I imagined you finding out. What Katja did was unforgivable.”

“Then why didn't you tell me?”

“Truthfully?”

“Of course!”

“I actually thought you might work it out for yourself.” How the hell was I supposed to do that? I stared at him in bewilderment. “When I realized,” he continued, “that you didn't consider me anything other than human, I wanted you to keep thinking that for as long as possible. I knew that eventually the time would come when hiding the truth from you would no longer be possible, but I hoped by then I would have had time to prepare you.”

I didn't want to disillusion him, but I couldn't see how he would have prepared me for this. It's not like confessing he belonged to some weird religious cult that worshipped a potato shaped like the baby Jesus.

“You just didn't figure Katja into the equation.”

Sighing, Gabriel scrubbed a hand over his face. “I seriously underestimated her feelings about you.”