The Last True Vampire (15 page)

Yep.
He’d sold his soul. And this devil was a cruel mistress indeed. “I understand.” That didn’t mean he’d supplicate to her in the future, however. Blood troth or not.

“Good.” She reached for his cock and it hardened in her palm.
Traitorous bastard.
He’d give the female what she wanted. Fuck her until she was too exhausted to speak his name, let alone issue another command. By then the sun would be up and Ronan had a responsibility to Mikhail to watch over his mate. No rest for the wicked, he supposed. Not if he wanted his due reward for his loyalty.

He stretched out on his back and rolled Siobhan onto his chest. A low purr vibrated in her throat as she settled herself on top of him, the slick heat of her sex gliding over his erection, causing a rumble of appreciation to grow in his own chest. If he’d condemned himself to hell, Ronan supposed that there were worse ways to burn.

*   *   *

By dawn, Siobhan would be tucked under her black sheets, her breathing soft and even in the aftermath of their hours-long tryst. The female was insatiable, fierce. And Ronan had the claw marks on his back to prove it. Not that he was complaining too much. He’d needed the release—as well as the workout—and he enjoyed rough sex with her. She’d taken more blood from him tonight than she’d need to sustain her for a year or longer. And even though a part of him despised her for manipulating him, Ronan respected her. Maybe even feared her, a little. Perhaps it was a good thing that she reviled the idea of being turned. She would be a fearsome vampire indeed. One that, if left unchecked, could be a serious contender for Mikhail’s throne.

No matter her politics, of one thing Ronan was certain. Mikhail needed Siobhan as an ally. He had enough enemies as it was, especially with confirmation of the Sortiari’s reemergence in the city. It was more important than ever that Mikhail show the dhampir covens that he was a king worth following. A benevolent leader who would raise them up, and they would share in his strength. None of that would happen, however, if Mikhail remained a stubborn ass and refused to turn Claire.

Ronan stroked the aged and worn leather that covered the codex. With any luck, the answers to all of their problems lay within the pages.

CHAPTER

12

Claire stared at the empty hallway that Mikhail—she refused to think of him as Michael anymore—had passed down, a hole the size of Texas opening up inside of her. She felt his absence so acutely, as if some vital part of her was missing. A phantom pain from a limb no longer intact. And it bothered the holy living crap out of her. His rejection still stung, embarrassment a bitter pill to swallow after she’d all but tackled him only to have him pull away. If he didn’t want her, what was the point in keeping her there? Surely the other man, Ronan, would keep Mikhail from doing anything
dire
to Alex if she chose to bolt. Could she do it? Despite the connection that she felt, could she leave him?

Good hustlers weren’t stupid. The best con artists never made a move without gathering as much intel as possible when working an angle. And Claire wasn’t willing to do anything until she knew everything she needed to. That priest had tried to kill her tonight. And he wasn’t any more human than Mikhail was. Where was she safer? Here, with a man—no, a
vampire
—she barely knew, or out there on her own? For the first time in a long time, Claire feared the prospect of going it alone.

Let the mark think he’s in charge.
Mikhail was reluctant to talk, but she could loosen him up. She put her own hurt on the back burner and dragged her gaze from that empty spot, instead turning her attention to the rumble of protest coming from her gut. If Claire had learned anything over the course of her life, it was that any obstacle could be surmounted as long as you had a full stomach.

“I’m cooking!” she announced to no one, hoping that Mikhail’s temper would cool and he’d come back to join her. He’d yet to give her any answers that weren’t monosyllabic, and she wasn’t going to make a decision about leaving until she had more information. “Pancakes sound good.” Four a.m. was totally a breakfast hour. Pushing herself from the couch, she wandered through the living room and down a hallway in search of the kitchen. “And coffee. Lots of coffee.”

Even after being there most of the night, Claire was still baffled by the sheer size of the house. The kitchen was bigger than the entire diner, stocked with high-end appliances that had to cost more than she made in a year. Hell, the formal dining room alone was set up to accommodate thirty or so people and Claire doubted that Mikhail had ever sat at the mahogany length one time, let alone entertained a roomful of dinner guests. Such a waste of money. She hopped up on the counter to snatch a fancy stainless-steel fry pan from a pot rack hanging above the island and set it on the stovetop.

“Don’t let Alex catch you using his Demeyere pans,” Mikhail remarked as he strode into the kitchen. His expression was pinched, his brows drawn over his bright eyes, his lips a hard line. “He thinks he’s the king of this castle. He doesn’t even let me use those.”

Claire chuckled. Though Mikhail’s expression was still pretty fierce, she sensed that his temper had cooled somewhat. She was totally the mistress of manipulation. Maybe she hadn’t lost her touch for the con after all. “Noted.” She continued to root around the kitchen, digging through cupboards. In a few short strides he was beside her, opening cupboards, gathering up bowls, utensils, flour, milk, and eggs. Had she managed to tame the savage beast with the prospect of pancakes?
Point: Claire.

She kept her smug satisfaction hidden as she peeked into the clear glass doors of the humongous refrigerator, stunned at the amount of food inside. “You wouldn’t figure a vampire’s fridge to be so well stocked.”

Mikhail flashed a reluctant smile. His dual sets of fangs were more pronounced in relation to his other teeth. “And what do you know of a vampire’s eating habits, my little human?”

Claire’s stomach clenched at the word “my.” She’d never been anyone’s anything before. “Not much thanks to you.” Aside from Mikhail attacking her like he was a starving man and she was a cheeseburger and then setting her aside like she’d ruined his diet, he worked the mysterious, cryptic
I’ll tell you as much as you need to know
angle well. “I’ve got to say, I’m still not wrapping my head around any of it. Seriously. Vampires?”

“I am the last of the Ancient Ones.” His voice was low and somber as Mikhail whisked a couple of eggs and added them to the flour and other dry ingredients he’d put in a clear glass bowl. “The last true vampire. The rest are only dhampirs, waiting to be turned.”

A wave of sadness stole over Claire and she swallowed against the emotion rising in her throat. Talk about surreal. This wasn’t a conversation she ever thought she’d have with another person—er, uh, sort of person. Well, a sane one, anyway. “You’re seriously the only vampire on the entire planet? I mean, there’s not even the slightest possibility there’s one that you don’t know about? Like a tribe of them in the rain forest or something?”

His mouth quirked in a half smile, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “I would know. There are no others.”

Mikhail was orphaned, just like Claire. True, they were adults, hardly waiting for the magical day they’d be adopted, but still. She’d always felt such a profound loneliness that the burden of it was almost too much to bear. To know that Mikhail might’ve experienced that same sense of detachment forged an even stronger sense of connection to him. “I’m not exactly an endangered species, but I’ve been alone for as long as I can remember. And my mom took off when I was sixteen, so I’ve been on my own for a while now. It’s a horrible thing not to have someone—anyone who
knows
you. Not like people who see you every day, but people who share your past and history. You can be surrounded by people and be utterly alone. Know what I mean?”

Mikhail’s gaze met hers, his expression so full of unspoken emotion that it caused Claire’s heart to stutter in her chest. “I do know.” His rich voice reached out with twining fingers that penetrated past skin and bone, burrowing into her soul. “There is nothing so crippling in this world as isolation.”

A quiet moment passed between them and Claire tried to center her racing thoughts. She was supposed to be working him for information, not sharing her innermost emotions. But she couldn’t help but trust him, couldn’t quell the feeling of rightness that seized her when she was close to him. Or the urge to get a hell of a lot closer.

“Ronan is a dhampir, is that right?” Claire steered the conversation back to the gathering of information. She couldn’t afford an emotional attachment. Not when she wasn’t sure whether she was staying or not. “What is that exactly?”

A territorial growl erupted in Michael’s chest and Claire took note of the sudden change in his demeanor. “He is, though not for long. Now that you’re here, I will turn him and the vampire race will finally be replenished after two centuries of near extinction.” He set the pan on the burner and the gas flame jumped to life. As it heated he mixed a little melted butter and milk into the pancake batter, whisking it until it was smooth.

“I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with me.”

“I see the doubt in your eyes, Claire. You tethered my soul and your blood awakened my power. You are inexorably mine. What has been forged between us cannot be broken. You are
rodstvennaya dusha
. My mate.”

Mikhail’s explanation was brief and to the point. Abrupt. Just like him. But this business about her being his … “
Mate?
Animals mate. Humans, not so much.”

Mikhail poured a ladleful of batter onto the buttered pan and it sizzled. “Humans mate.”

“Humans
date
. They get married. They divorce. What you’re talking about sounds a hell of a lot more permanent than what humans do.”

“We’re all animals, Claire. Some of are simply closer to our more primal instincts than others.”

A chill shivered down Claire’s spine. Hadn’t she attacked him like a feline in heat right on his living room couch? And hadn’t she wanted him to bite her? To sink his fangs into her like some wild thing? There was no doubt in her mind that Mikhail was a dangerous predator. Every bit the animal he professed himself to be. One that wouldn’t think twice before ripping out his enemy’s throat. “Tell me about the priest.” No way was she ready to think about this whole “mate” business. That little tidbit was going to have to go on the back burner for now.

Mikhail kept his back to her, his attention fixed on the pancakes. He transferred one from the pan to a plate and poured another ladleful of batter on the hot surface. “What’s the matter, worried I can’t handle it?” At this point, nothing could shock her. “Was he a werewolf? Zombie? Or maybe a disgruntled hellhound?” Mikhail let out a soft snort of amusement. She was tempted to pat herself on the back, chipping at his stone exterior for however brief a moment. Instead, Claire decided to put herself to good use and ventured around the island in search of coffee. “If these guys supposedly want to kill me, don’t you think it’s only fair I know who they are and why?”

Mikhail sighed.
Resignation. Woot! Claire: two. Vampire: zip.
He was probably rolling his eyes and weighing his options. It was too late for him to play coy with her, though. They’d shared a moment of solidarity. Keeping anything from her now would negate that, and Claire was banking on it.

“The less you know, the better. I’m only trying to protect you, Claire.”

“I don’t need protection. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was six and my mom decided that being an addict was more fun than being a parent. What I need is some goddamned information.”

Mikhail flipped his pancake and crossed to the far end of the kitchen. He retrieved a stainless-steel canister that he handed to her. “Coffee.”

Was mind reading a supernatural trait? Claire wondered. Or maybe her vampire just had Sherlockian powers of deduction. Claire paused.
Hers?
No matter the connection between them, he wasn’t her anything, and she needed to remind herself of that. She filled the mesh basket in the fancy Cuisinart coffeemaker and filled the reservoir with water. It was still hard to believe that she was standing in a house that would probably make Donald Trump green with envy. This place was a burglar’s dream.

“Hey, where is Alex anyway? I don’t want to hurt his feelings, by violating the sacred space of his kitchen and eating food that he didn’t cook, but I got the impression that you wanted him to stick around.” If Mikhail wasn’t going to pony up any more information, could she really stay here in blissful ignorance? No. If she chose to trust him, he’d have to trust her in return. Otherwise there was no point in staying. Though, if she decided to run, she’d feel a hell of a lot better about leaving if she knew Alex wasn’t around to be on the receiving end of Mikhail’s wrath.

“He’s been up all night. I told him to go home. Besides, I’m pretty sure we can manage without him.”

Interesting.
Had Mikhail been bluffing when he threatened to hurt Alex if Claire took off?
I always follow through …
The promise in his earlier words caused a wave of trepidation to roll through her. His eyes shone with heat, locked on hers. A thrum settled low in her abdomen and Claire swore under her breath. With just a look he could banish her anxiety and have her ready to climb him like a tree. “Are you sure about that? Shouldn’t he be the one making coffee and pancakes while dabbing our mouths with napkins, or whatever it is rich people expect of the hired help?”

*   *   *

So much sass. He liked it. Michael placed two plates of pancakes on the kitchen island along with a bottle of syrup and a dish of butter. He set down forks and a butter knife before taking a seat. “Alex works for me, but I doubt he’ll be dabbing any mouths anytime soon. He’ll be back at sunrise. For the time being, I’m your servant.”

Claire regarded him from beneath lowered lashes, her full lips twitching as she fought a smile. Michael leaned toward her as though his body and not just his soul had been tethered to her. How could he possibly hold himself from her—let her sustain him with nothing more than her blood—when all he could think about was kissing her again? Touching her soft flesh? Gods, he wanted her. Wanted her to be
his
. Perhaps he could enjoy her company—her body—without the complication of a mate bond. Without sharing his blood with her. He was a selfish enough bastard to consider the possibility of doing just that.