Of Shadow Born (35 page)

David, who had his head in his hands, looked up at the Consort. “Only once. The transition had to be sealed with death.”

Jonathan shook his head. “So you sent me off to find a human sacrifice? Why didn’t you tell me?”

David sighed. “I honestly didn’t think it through that far, Jonathan. There was no one else to send whom I trusted to bring what she needed. We didn’t have time for a moral debate.”

“And you thought I would refuse to do what was necessary—even for Miranda—if I knew.”

“I didn’t want to burden you with it until it was too late to change your mind,” David replied, then spoke over whatever Jonathan was about to say with, “And incidentally, neither of you gets to take the high ground when it comes to secrets and deception.”

“What are you going to tell her?” Deven asked.

“I’ll find a way to break it to her gently but without sugarcoating it. She may not even remember it happened.” David glanced over at Deven. “She’s going to be mortified if she remembers kissing you.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows shot up, and for a moment he forgot his anger, turning a wide-eyed look on Dev. “Wait . . . she kissed you? You?”

“It was the transition,” Deven said tiredly, rubbing his neck. “You know how it works when you come across the gentler way—nature, or whatever it is, tries to deepen the connection between you and your sire. She had no idea who I actually was. I was just there, and when she woke up she was on me like bloodstains on a white shirt.”

Jonathan stared at his Prime for a moment . . . then burst out laughing.

Deven threw up his hands, exasperated. “What the hell is so funny?”

“Sorry,” he said breathlessly. “I just . . . I would have paid to see that.”

David bit his lip, holding back a laugh of his own, but at least part of it escaped when he affirmed, “He looked like a deer in headlights.”

“Have you ever actually kissed a woman before?” Jonathan asked.

Deven looked like he wanted to stake them both. “Of course I have,” he said sharply. “Granted, it was five hundred years ago.”

They both laughed again.

“Fuck off, both of you,” Deven said, standing up. “I’m calling the airport—we need to get home. I think you two can handle things from here.”

He left the room, and though he didn’t slam the door, it was implied. Just as he left, the two Elite David had called for appeared with a tarp to wrap the human’s body and take her away.

Jonathan sighed, sobering. “Is there anything else you need?”

David shook his head. “Only for life to make sense again, and I don’t think you can give me that.”

The Consort stood up and, as he walked by David, put a hand on the Prime’s shoulder. “I apologize for my words,” Jonathan said. “I know you’re doing the best you can.”

“Thank you. I apologize for not being open with you.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. We all do what we have to do for those we love.”

After Jonathan left, David sat awhile, his mind too full of conflicting thoughts to organize into a coherent system. He thought about doing some work to focus his mind, but the truth was, he was worn out, even as much as he’d slept the last few days. Bringing someone across was always exhausting no matter who you were, and this had been out of the ordinary to say the least. He gave up and went back to bed.

Miranda was peacefully asleep again. He touched his forehead to hers, thinking of the sight of her on the floor, spasming against the human’s death. If she were to do it again, it would be easier, and eventually killing became just like any other feeding, but its energy burned out quickly. It was a drug to many of their kind . . .

Their kind . . .

He hugged her tightly for reassurance. There were two of them now. At least he wasn’t alone. And Persephone had promised they never would be again.

But Persephone had also promised their bond would heal. He still felt nothing.

He couldn’t think about that right now. It threatened to send him into full-blown panic again, and he couldn’t do that—not to Miranda. She needed him to be strong and, most important, calm; if they weren’t to be bound, he could shield enough to fool her into thinking he was fine, just until she was recovered and used to her new life. He would hold himself apart from her for her sake. That was how things had to be, if they were never to be whole again.

In the meantime, as long as she was asleep, she wouldn’t see him break.

Seventeen

Jonathan watched his Prime surreptitiously for the first hour of the flight, and though usually Deven would have noticed eyes on him within the first minute, he was either choosing to ignore it or too lost in his thoughts to be aware. He just stared out the window at the dark world passing by far below.

There was something very wrong with him. Jonathan had been aware of it for quite a while—since before David had died. A crack had appeared in Deven’s armor, and it was getting worse. He’d first seen it the night Deven slaughtered the Priesthood of Elysium, and it was as if that one terrible act had broken some part of the Prime, one of the last pieces of him still whole.

Jonathan had been well aware when they’d met what a mess he was getting into. There were almost no vampires Deven’s age left alive. To Jonathan’s knowledge the oldest vampire to have lived reached about 840 before losing his mind and throwing himself onto a stake.

Jonathan had learned quickly that Pairing with Deven was both the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him, but even if he had regretted it, there was no going back.

For the most part Jonathan was happy. He freely admitted he wasn’t the most demanding partner; he was a man of fairly simple pleasures and with few enemies. As long as he had books, bourbon, and semiregular sex, he was quite content. Their relationship allowed him to get the latter from wherever he pleased during those long periods when Deven had no interest. He had a gift for strategy, which made him invaluable for organizing the Elite, but he was no warrior. He was not a politician, either, and had no desire to be. For the most part his role had been very similar to a traditional Queen’s—support, confidence, and love.

He was perfectly fine with that . . . but as time went on, his contentment soured, because he couldn’t do what he was meant, by fate, to do. He had tried a dozen different ways to help his Prime, but he was starting to believe, despite his usual optimism, that he had found Deven too late, and that the Prime was already too broken to save.

He had hoped, however faintly, that he could somehow nudge Deven and David back together, at least periodically, without any betrayal or anger. Clearly having a Consort wasn’t enough to keep Deven balanced anymore. Perhaps if he had them both, between them they could ease the weight on his shoulders.

On the surface it was an insane idea, the sort of Hail Mary play that only a desperate man would try, but he’d considered bringing it up at least to the boys once all this business with David’s death was over. He knew Miranda herself had suggested it three years ago, and though he didn’t believe for a second she had meant it, she had at least entertained the notion. Some sort of arrangement might be possible down the road, given a lot of discussion and very specific agreed-upon circumstances.

Now, though, he was no longer sure it would help. Deven had formed an attachment to Miranda now, too, and while it wasn’t exactly romantic, it was more than simple friendship—and after what had happened three years ago, there was no way Deven would ever, ever risk hurting her again.

“So,” Jonathan ventured, keeping his eyes on his book nonchalantly, “are you planning to pursue that whole thing with Miranda, or . . .”

“What thing?” Deven asked, frowning.

“Well, change or no change, she did kiss you. And you did blush when we were talking about it.”

“I don’t blush,” Deven insisted. “And by now I shouldn’t have to ask this question, but, what part of
gay
do you not get?”

“Oh, please. As old as you are, you know sexuality is more fluid than that for our kind. That’s how you landed David in the first place.”

“I landed David because he had suffered a tragic loss and I give amazing head.”

Jonathan snorted. “Exactly my point. He could get a shag from any woman not connected to another woman or life support machinery, but he tumbled into bed with you. Anyway, aside from the deer-in-headlights thing, what did you do when she kissed you?”

“Besides try to push her off? Well . . .” Deven crossed his arms. “I may have kissed back. Just to satisfy my curiosity.”

Grinning, Jonathan asked, “Then what?”

Deven’s eyes narrowed. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you.”

“I’ve just never seen you do anything remotely sexual with a woman. I’m sorry I missed it. What was it like?”

“Like? It was just like kissing a man. Lips don’t really differentiate much.”

“Maybe not, but breasts sure do.”

Deven smiled a little at that. “That part was weird.”

“So what if—strictly theoretically, of course—she actually wanted to sleep with you? Or better yet, what if they asked you to join in, and fooling around with her was just part of the equation? Would you try it?”

Deven was giving him a hilariously befuddled look. “What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“I said it was theoretical.”

“What are you fishing for, Jonathan? Are you trying to plan something?”

Jonathan laughed. “Of course not.”

“Good, because nothing like that is going to happen. The whole thing was an anomaly that I’d appreciate you dropping.”

Jonathan noted the rising ire in his voice and said, “Okay, okay. I was just curious. No plans, honest. I won’t bring it up again.”

There was a chime, and Deven took out his phone, unlocking the screen listlessly. A flicker of a smile crossed his face.

“What is it?” Jonathan asked.

The Prime held up the phone, letting Jonathan see the alert: An area code 312 number had called a 512 number. “Something’s going right,” Deven said.

“Dev . . .”

“Can we just . . . not?” Deven asked, sounding utterly exhausted, even flat. “I swear, Jonathan, I’ve had enough processing and emotional vulnerability to last me a fucking millennium. I just want to go home, go to bed, and maybe have a few nights of normalcy before the next fresh hell descends upon us. Please.”

Jonathan smiled. “All right.”

After a moment, though, Jonathan said, “You know, if you wanted to go to bed with them, I’d be fine with it.”

Deven groaned. “What did I just say?”

“I just wanted you to know,” the Consort said firmly. “I was mostly kidding—but if you wanted to shag the entire Council I’d make it happen. Whatever you want, no matter how ridiculous or impossible, I want for you. I want you to be happy, and I wish I could fix it. That’s all.”

At last Deven smiled. “Love, how many times must I tell you . . . you can’t fix me. It’s not your job. You’re just going to make yourself crazy thinking it falls on you.”

“Just tell me this, then. What would it take? What would it take for you to feel genuinely happy, even just for a moment? Anything. I just want to know.”

The Prime sat quietly for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think it’s possible,” he said. “I told you when we met that I’m a lost cause.”

“I don’t accept that. There must be something that would make you at least want to
try
.”

They held each other’s eyes until Deven closed his, and to Jonathan’s surprise, when they opened again, they were bright with tears. “You don’t want to know,” he said.

“Yes, I do. Is it David? You can tell me.”

“No . . . David and I could never make each other happy, you know that. If we tried to be real partners, we’d kill each other. I’m still surprised we didn’t the first time.”

“Then what is it?”

Deven leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes. “I want to be loved,” he said, almost too softly to hear.

Jonathan started to protest—whatever his faults, Deven was one of the most loved people he’d ever met—but the Prime wasn’t finished. His last words, before turning his head back to the window and staring out again in silence, broke Jonathan’s heart in half:

“I want God to love me again.”

* * *

Miranda woke again, and this time she meant it.

She blinked in the firelight and sat up, a little confused for a moment, as though she’d just had an incredibly vivid dream. She was pretty sure it had been about sex but had ended in blood.

What had happened? Wasn’t something supposed to happen?

She held up her hands, staring at them. They looked strange, and she didn’t know why until she concentrated—and then it was like they suddenly went from two-dimensional to three-dimensional, and she could see things she had never seen before. She looked around the room, and the effect was the same: Everything was sharp and clear, even in her peripheral vision, and she registered things about the room that were so tiny . . . a minute crack in the bedpost, a delicate spiderweb in the far corner. She could focus her vision on one thing and still describe in detail something on the other side of the room.

She could hear the guards outside the door breathing. She could smell whatever the servants used to clean the bathroom. She could smell the residue of blood somewhere, too.

It might have frightened her had it not been so fascinating. She sat for nearly half an hour just listening, looking, smelling . . . and that wasn’t all.

She didn’t know what to call it, but it felt like another sense had heightened, one she didn’t even know she had. It felt something like her empathy in the way it responded to her will, but instead of emotion, it told her how things were moving—she could sense a tiny fly’s path as it flew into the spiderweb, even though she wasn’t watching it. She could sense the flames in the fireplace dancing, down to each individual lick of flame.

Beside her, David stirred and woke, blinking as she had. “What the hell . . .”

His voice sounded different. It had layers and layers of vibration.

He sat up, too, and stared around him the same way she had. “Do you hear that?” he asked.