Companions (20 page)

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She didn't want sex, he didn't want sex, but they were all over each other a few seconds later. At some point, he sighed while sucking a hard, pebbled nipple when a stray thought that guns weren't an answer and sex wasn't an answer and who the hell cared at this point crossed his mind. Her fingers were twisted in the wet tangles of his hair, pushing him away and pulling him close at once.

He wanted to bite her. He always wanted to sink his mating fangs deep into her lush, freckled flesh, but he resisted possessing her in anything but a physical way this time. The blood had already been shed.

Too much blood, and not just what had been exchanged between them. This mating was necessary; it would finish what they started last night near dawn, that was all.

At some point before the water grew cold, Selena found the presence of mind to turn off the faucet. A moment later, he lifted her from the tub. As she pressed her face against his chest, breath ragged, voice muffled, she said, "We're not making love."

"We're having sex," he agreed.

"Fine."

He put her on her feet and let her slide, flesh smooth as vanilla satin, down the length of his body. Her hands caressed his thighs, her lips teased the tip of his penis but didn't take him completely into her mouth.

"Police harassment," he murmured after a few moments of this torture.

Her wicked laugh filled the small room, and she leaned back on her heels, her arms held out to him. He put a hand out, whether to pull her up or let her tug him down, he didn't get a chance to find out. Her face changed in that instant, a stab of alarm going through her. He understood her sudden concern instantly and just as swiftly acted on it. Memory led him to the right spot in the living room. By the time he returned with the condoms, Selena was on her feet. He grabbed her around the waist and took her back to the bed, muttering the whole time about the annoyance of a vampire having to use a rubber like some teenager scared of getting his prom date knocked up.

"Shut up," she said, and put the damn thing on him with a practiced skill that left him jealous of mortal lovers in her past. "Oh, good lord," she complained, picking up his reaction. Then she pushed him onto his back and had her way with him with a fierce aggressiveness that left him wrung out and murmuring weakly about having gotten himself attached to Xena Warrior Cop instead of a normal woman.

"You love it and you know it," she said, collapsing her hard-muscled length onto him.

She didn't fear him, would never let herself fear him. He did love that. She didn't worship him, but she did want him. It wasn't love, but it was something he hadn't let himself have for half a millennium.

"A connection to the mortal world." She said it for him. She propped her chin on his chest and asked,

"What's so wrong with that?" Before he could so much as lift a sarcastic eyebrow at the obvious ridiculousness of this question, she said, "Even after what happened last night, I don't think all vampires are evil, damned creatures of the darkness. I don't know why you do."

"I've known more of them," he answered.

"Or why you're the most damned vampire of them all. It's not like you volunteered for the — Rosho!"

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She jumped off him and to her feet even before he could stop her. Memories of the wild events of last night flooded her, not only the fear of being pursued by hunters or the angry futility of what had happened to Sandy but details of conversation, nuance, body language among the vampires. The sneering insults Rosho had heaped on Istvan came back to her.

"Iheard you were slave to the Council. What a mistake she made in letting you live. Go back to
your mistress. You remember what it's like to be prey, don't you, boy? Her blood belongs to me
—

when I choose to take it. As yours belongs to me."

"Rosho." She stared at Steve, wide-eyed. "Rosho made you a vampire."

"The hell he did." Steve sat up and swung his legs over the opposite side of the bed. He scratched his bare, flat stomach. "There anything to eat around here? Except you, that is."

She came around to stand in front of him. "Rosho made you," she confronted him. "And that's why you killed Sandy."

He smirked. "I'm not the jealous type. And Rosho had nothing to do with making me a vampire."

She knew that wasn't completely true; she felt it in the bond they shared as he shied away from painful memories. From what she'd heard and seen of Rosho, she was certain any memories Steve had concerning him were painful. That made her even more confused about what he'd done to Sandy. She knew that Steve liked to think of himself as a callous son of a bitch, but half the time she didn't believe that was true. "It was Rosho's fault Sandy did what she did."

"Rosho drove her mad," he conceded. "But she took it into her head to kill."

"She thought it would make her better. All of them shared blood with her. She hoped that eliminating them would literally get them out of her system. It was a crazy idea, but there was a certain logic to it."

"A madwoman's logic."

"Rosho drove her mad."

He nodded. "I know."

"Then why did you punish her and not him?"

"He never breaks the
letter
of the Law. Not yet."

"I know what the Laws say about companions killing vampires, but she was crazy."

"And would only have gotten worse if I let her live. There was no cure for her. I was inside her head, Selena. There was nothing in there that could be rescued except her immortal soul."

He really believed in immortal souls, she realized, believed with unshakable faith. What she thought of as murder, he thought of as mercy. "You really thought you did her a favor."

He put his hands on her shoulders. "I didn't execute her because she broke the Law. I killed the woman to keep Rosho from getting his hands on her again. If I'd strictly obeyed the Law, I would have had to give her up to him. He might have killed her, but he'd have done worse to her than he already had
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beforehand. And knowing Rosho, he might not have killed her. He would have changed her, turned a madwoman into a vampire."

Selena was so appalled by the notion she couldn't speak. In fact, the hideousness of such an action sent a wave of nausea through her. She was a Chicago homicide cop. She'd seen it all and had grown a cynical shell thick as plate armor, but this… this…

"I know," Steve said. "Rosho…" He chuckled. "I hate to say it, but Rosho makes most vampires seem genuinely nice." He eased her to sit on the side of the bed and turned to her closet after he put on his own clothes. He rummaged around in the depths for a few moments, then tossed a peacock-blue satin robe to her. "Pretty," he said, after she'd belted it on.

"It came in a Victoria's Secret box. From my mother."

"In the mistaken hope that you'd find a nice man to wear it for." He walked toward the bedroom door.

"I'm not nice, but I have domestic skills. I'm going to go make breakfast now."

Selena stayed in the bedroom and told herself that he'd eat and leave and then she could think about something besides him again. There were ramifications in what had happened to Sandy Schwimmer that still needed to be dealt with. She carefully kept away from the computer. She wasn't even vaguely tempted to go on-line and share the news yet. She did check her answering machine. There were calls from her mom, her aunt, her partner Raleigh, and her watch commander. She needed to answer them all, but not with Steve in the house.

She wasn't going into the kitchen. She told herself that several times, though the longing to be with Steve was a fierce one. The smell of coffee tempted her, as well as the aromas of toast and frying meat. Her stomach announced that it wanted to go into the kitchen and told her she was being silly about not giving in to the whole companion's adoration of their vampire thing. She might not have given in to her stomach's wheedling if her memory hadn't once again circled to what had passed between the two vampires last night.

She was too curious not to go into the kitchen, and more hungry for information than for breakfast, though she was happy to have breakfast, too.

"What did all that stuff mean? What he said."

Istvan looked over the rim of a coffee cup at Selena on the other side of the kitchen's narrow breakfast bar. He didn't pretend not to understand what she meant. He wasn't sure he wanted to go into it, but since she was willing to be diverted from the subject of the woman he'd had to kill, he answered, "It was a long time ago."

"In a galaxy far, far away?"

"A different world, certainly."

He should leave. He should finish his meal, finish his coffee, and leave — without bothering to help with the dishes or offering to take out the garbage. Domesticity was not seductive. The assignment was over, other duties called, but temptation lingered. He looked at the way the soft, slinky material covered
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Selena's breasts and gaped open just enough to give him a nice view of them, and he wanted to have sex again. He saw a couple of spots where he'd very much like to leave bite marks in tender flesh. The bond tried to create a stronger call than duty. That was one of the things that made having a companion so dangerous for him.

"I haven't had a vacation in five hundred years," he heard himself say. When had he gotten so tired? He leaned back in the chair. Selena poured him another cup of coffee. She'd defrosted some donuts. He put a third one on his plate and considered it. "Of course, we had no concept of vacations back then."

"Not gypsy peasant boys, at any rate," she agreed, picking up an orange to peel. "Bet even back then the noble oppressors found time to run off for weekends in Dubrovnik."

"They knew how to entertain themselves," he agreed. He ate the donut and drained the coffee cup.

She gave him a look so sharp it struck into his soul. "What?" The word wasn't a question but a demand.

He put down the cup. "What, what?"

"The bond works both ways, Stevie."

"Steve's bad enough. Don't call me — " She tossed the orange at him. He snagged it from the air, extended a claw, and finished peeling it for her.

She did not look impressed but said, "Thanks," when he handed it back. "You have this black haze around you," she told him, "and your mind's not quite in this century."

"Senility," he explained.

"I said something about rich folk in the past that reminded you of something you don't want to talk about, but I think you better talk about it, because whatever it is has bearing on what happened, and for some reason we both find confusing and annoying, you want me to forgive you for what you did last night."

While she took time to catch her breath, he glared at her, narrow-eyed and suspicious. "You picked up all that from one sentence?"

She gave a smug nod. "I was watching — feeling — for it. You're not the only one who can play sneaky mind games, you know. You do do it better," she added.

"More practice."

"Rosho," she insisted. "What nasty memory did I stir up out of your murky depths just now that relates directly back to Rosho?" She leaned across the table. Her hand covered his, sealing the current between them. "What did he do to you that you've never told anybody about?"

The warmth of her skin seeped into him. He hadn't realized how cold he'd grown. "You're not my priest or my shrink."

"I'm your companion."

"And you want to make it better?"

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She gave a snarling grin at his bitterness. "Maybe I want to rub salt on the wound. Would you prefer that?"

"Yes."

"In that case…" She fluttered her eyelashes at him and assumed a coyly sympathetic expression. "You poor baby, let me make it better."

He laughed. "You are such a bitch."

She took it as the compliment he intended. "Thank you." Her touch was comforting, but her next word was not a request. "Spill."

"Your interviewing technique could use some work, detective." She
looked
at him, an intense, serious expression this time, and thought curious thoughts loudly at him with demonic determination. It didn't take Istvan long to give in. "Where to start? With my father. My… fate… all goes back to my sire, and the boyar whore who made him."

"Is she the
she
Rosho mentioned?"

"No."

"Then who — "

"Do you want chronological order, or would you prefer to have a jealous fit?"

"Over you?"

"You can't help but be jealous over my other lovers. You can't help it, so don't get indignant. But rest easy, I have only one fond memory of the bitch who made my father, and that is of her death. Shall I tell you about it?"

"Is it relevant to Sandy or Rosho?"

The question took him by surprise, and to a connection he hadn't realized before. "Yes," he answered Selena. "Yes, it is relevant. You see, your friend was not the first companion to kill a vampire. I have that honor."

She was not skeptical, but she was shocked. "The Council let you live?"

"They weren't given a choice. Besides, the Council had less hold over the strigoi then. There were fewer Laws, fewer hunters to enforce them. And they weren't called Enforcers," he explained. "That is an American term from early in the twentieth century. It came about because of Al Capone and — "

"I don't want to know if Al Capone's a vampire. I want to hear about you."

Istvan shook his head in disgust at the realization that he was being as talkative as Char, the young Enforcer geek who researched strigoi history and culture for him. She was a nice girl, Char, too nice.