The Last True Vampire (16 page)

When the coffee was done brewing, Claire brought the pot over and set it on the counter while Michael supplied the cups, sugar, and cream. They both settled down onto their chairs and into their meals.

“The slayers,” she said without making eye contact. “Tell me about them.”

Likewise, Michael paid way too much attention to his pancakes. “Claire, it’s my intention to ease you into this life. I’m sure the past few hours have been a shock to your system and—”

“Look, the past seventeen years of my life have been sink or swim. I’m not some delicate, fragile flower that you need to shelter. Give it to me straight or you can forget me hanging around, because I’m not going to sit here for god knows how long without any information to back up why I’m safer here than I am at my own apartment.”

Gods, the way she spoke. So unabashed. Her fire only made him want her more. Michael met her gaze knowing that his own reflected silver. She brought out the animal in him as no other ever had, and fighting his impulse to strip her and take her right there on the kitchen counter was akin to fighting his thirst for blood. He was quickly discovering that he couldn’t deny her wishes any more than he could deny his own desire for her. “We call them slayers. They are berserker assassins, brutal beasts bred for killing and sent by the Sortiari to exterminate the vampire race.”

She quirked a brow. “And the Sortiari are…?”

“They are the influencers of Fate, or so they claim. A secret society that has infiltrated every aspect of the world as we know it and whose assassins have been known to hide behind the cloister. For millennia the Sortiari have taken it upon themselves to fulfill what they believe is a divine purpose: changing the course of Fate. The supernatural community isn’t their only target. Politicians, religious figures, humanitarians, criminals … Anyone or anything that goes against their agenda is a potential target.”

“Holy shit,” Claire said with a disbelieving laugh. “Is this a Dan Brown novel come to life or what?” Her expression became serious as she studied Michael with an intensity that heated his blood. “So why do they want me dead? I’m not rich. Not powerful. I’ve got about ten bucks to my name and I’m a waitress. Aside from my blood, which you seem to think is pretty dynamite, there’s nothing special about me.”

“Claire, I don’t think you understand your importance.” How could she? Michael pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a slow breath. “I am the
last
vampire. If I should die, the race dies with me.” How could he possibly explain to her how much she meant to him? To all of them? “You are my mate. The female who has returned my
soul
to me and awakened the seat of my power. Because of this, I can turn dhampirs. They can finally become what they’re meant to be. The Sortiari spent centuries trying to eradicate the vampire race. You are the only thing standing between them and success.”

Claire focused her attention on her plate, her brow furrowed. “How is a dhampir made?”

Michael took a monster bite of pancake and chewed for a quiet moment. “Dhampirs are born. Either from a vampire mating or a vampire/human coupling.”

“What about a dhampir coupling?” Her curiosity was a boon to his confidence. Perhaps if he did as she asked and armed her with information he could convince her to stay.

“Dhampir males are sterile,” he replied. “Until we’re made vampires, we are unable to reproduce.”

“Wait.” Her dubious smile caused his abdomen to tighten. Gods, how he wanted her. “How is that even possible? Vampires are dead. Or undead. Aren’t you?”

Michael gave an amused snort. “Our physiology is much more complex than even modern science could comprehend. When a dhampir is made into a vampire, his soul is sent into oblivion. It’s the price that’s paid for becoming stronger and developing keener senses. In a way, a vampire’s body does essentially become undead. Our hearts cease beating; the breath stalls in our chests. Blood no longer flows through our veins and we no longer need food to sustain us. But there is a hunger. A thirst for blood that must be sated. And when a vampire drinks from a living vein, our bodies awaken, resume their normal functions until the lifeblood cycles through our system. In most cases, a vampire needs to drink from either his mate or a dhampir to thrive. Human blood isn’t enough to sustain us. After the blood works through our systems, the vampire’s body returns to dormancy until the thirst returns and the cycle starts anew.”

Claire’s answering smile dazzled him. “Creepy. And sort of cool. I’m pretty sure any scientist would shit a brick to get his hands on you.” Her playful tone tied Michael into knots, sent a rush of desire through his veins. “You said human blood isn’t enough. I’m human. But you seem to think mine is like the Red Bull of blood.”

Michael laughed. “It is. To me. It’s the mate bond that makes it so. Claire, when a soul is sent into oblivion, it doesn’t simply float away. It attaches itself to another soul. In this case, yours. Through the centuries your soul anchored mine, and when you were born you took it with you. When I saw you, you returned my soul to me. You
tethered
me. We are two halves of a whole. It’s a bond that can’t
ever
be broken.”

Claire pushed her plate away as though she’d lost her appetite. A wave of anxiety crested over Michael. He’d hoped his honesty would draw her closer to him, invite her trust, not push her away. “To think of my soul as some infinite thing, hanging out in the universe until I was born, goes a little deeper than I usually like to think. I mean, that my
soul
would have reached out and grabbed on to yours? Sort of a fairy tale, don’t you think? I’ve got to be honest with you, I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago.” A moment of silence stretched out between them and Michael’s chest ached with her sorrow. His fangs throbbed in his gums as he was possessed with an urge to rip the throat from anyone who would do her harm. “So”—she cleared the thick emotion from her throat—“does becoming a vampire mark some sort of uh … sexual maturity?”

Pancake lodged in his throat and he washed it down with coffee. So brazen, so curious, his female was. Lust burned his gut, hardened his cock, but Michael pushed his desire to the back of his mind. For now, he’d sate her desire for knowledge and nothing else. “I’d love to hear Ronan’s response to that,” he said with a laugh. “I’m sure he’d be unnecessarily outraged at the notion that he was unable to bed every female that caught his eye. But to answer your question, becoming a vampire initiates our fertility.”

“It seems like a contradiction to nature, don’t you think? You’re only able to reproduce after your soul leaves and your body dies.”

“Whose nature?” Michael countered. “Yours? Perhaps. But in my world, it
is
natural.”

“What would happen if Ronan drank my blood?”

“He would die a slow and painful death,” Michael responded as he suppressed a territorial growl.

Claire covered her mouth, nearly choking on her coffee. “My blood would kill him?”

“No,” Michael said with a humorless laugh, “but the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound vampire sitting beside you would get the job done. Claire, I told you that we’re closer to our animal natures than humans. Vampires are incredibly territorial. I wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who tried to take what belongs to me. You need to be very aware of that aspect of my nature.”

“Well,” she said on a breath. “Overprotective with a violent streak.” She looked away and a ripple of discomfort vibrated through Michael. Perhaps he should have been more delicate on the subject of his territoriality, but he no longer wished to hide his true nature from her. Doubt gnawed at him. Her doubt. And the sensation left him feeling too raw. “Sunlight bothers you?”

“Yes.” Michael studied her. He’d seen the look before; she was trying to get a read on him. If she’d simply open up to him, she’d realize that their tether left him bare to her. He could hide nothing. “Dhampirs can tolerate sunlight as well as humans, but exposure would kill me.”

“Wow,” Claire said with a laugh. “L.A. really isn’t the best city for you to be living in, you know. How often do you need blood?”

He popped the last bite of pancake into his mouth. “In the past, I could sustain myself by taking blood once every three or four months.” His gaze leveled on her. “But I’ve found that when it comes to you, I am
insatiable
.”

Claire’s beautiful mouth parted with a breath and her lips formed a silent
oh
. A thrill chased through him and his thirst blazed hot in his throat.

“Your eyes are silver.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, her eyes shining with heat. Her pulse raced, the vein in her throat throbbing against her tender flesh. The sound of her heart as it pounded in her chest caused a surge of lust to dizzy him. How could he have ever thought to hold himself from her?

Michael’s skin prickled with the coming sunrise, and a stone of disappointment settled in his gut. Their time together had come to an end much too soon, and within minutes the blinds would come down to lock them both in this wretched tomb. Gods, how he hated the sun.

“What’s the matter?” Her expression softened with concern and Michael swore it tore the muscles of his heart.

“The sun is about to rise.” Already his limbs felt weighed down, his body preparing for the sleep that would soon overtake him. If only he could have one more hour with her.
Hell, another minute.
He wasn’t ready to leave her side. “Alex should be here soon. Ronan as well. They’ll watch over you while I sleep.”

She regarded him with narrowed eyes.
So suspicious.
“Just gonna hit the hay, huh? Just like that.”

“I’m afraid it’s an unfortunate necessity.” How much should he divulge to her about his weakness once the sun rose? “I have no choice but to sleep. Another quirk of physiology.”

She flashed a mischievous smile that tightened his chest. “So you’re saying if you don’t go lie down now, you’ll just crumple to the floor?”

He smiled in turn. “More or less.”

“Well then.” Claire continued to study him as though she could climb into his very soul. “I guess you’d better get to bed. I doubt I could carry you up the stairs if you passed out on the kitchen floor.”

No, but he could carry her without any exertion whatsoever. She was a feather in his arms and he ached to take her upstairs, lay her down in his bed, and feel the warmth of her body tucked against his. Leaving her for even a few hours seemed too great a feat. He’d meant what he’d said about easing her into this life, though. Michael knew that if he pushed too hard she’d run.

He crossed the kitchen to where she stood by the sink, rinsing her plate. She faced him, her eyes large and luminous. “Behave yourself, Claire.” He kissed her forehead and she leaned in to his touch, her body melting against his. Gods, if he didn’t leave now he’d never part from her. “Have a good day, my little human.” Michael turned and walked away, and the effort was like prying two magnets apart. In a few short hours, Claire had managed to embed herself further into his heart. His soul.

And now that she was here, he was going to do everything in his power to ensure that she stayed.

CHAPTER

13

Freshly spilled blood perfumed the air and Mikhail’s throat burned with thirst. The need to drink was strong, despite the fact that he’d had his fill before going into battle. Accursed bloodlust. His secondary fangs throbbed in time with the beat of his heart. Some of the Sortiari had voluntarily slit their own throats in an effort to distract the vampire forces from the battle and weaken their defenses. Mikhail would not be deterred, however. The bastards had taken Ilya, and he would not rest until he found her.

With his heavy broadsword he struck out, cutting down his enemies like crisp autumn wheat. All around him was death: the bodies of the Sortiari soldiers and their slayers, more vampires than he could count. His stomach turned as rage clouded Mikhail’s vision. With all that had been lost, he wouldn’t survive losing her, too.

“Ilya!”

Michael came awake with a start, the name bursting from his lips in a tortured shout that echoed off the walls. Before the Sortiari had obliterated the vampires, he’d had a female. A newly turned vampire named Ilya. Though they’d shared a bed and blood, Michael had known that she wasn’t truly his. Hers was not the soul that made his whole. Only through the collective memory had Michael experienced the magic of a true mating bond. That is, until three nights ago when his soul had rushed back to him, filling the void that had consumed him for centuries.

The sun had yet to set; he felt it in every cell that constructed him. And yet he was awake. His body and mind alert. The death-like sleep of the daylight hours no longer held him in its grip. But he hungered.

For Claire.

His fangs throbbed in his gums, painfully so, and his throat burned with an unquenchable fire. Could it be that the remnants of his dream ignited his thirst? His urgent want of Ilya that crossed over centuries and fixated on a human? Or was he simply making excuses, anything to explain away the soul-deep need he felt for Claire.

In the inky darkness, the walls closed in on him, the air became stagnant. The smell of death was still fresh in his mind and panic surged in Michael’s chest, burning as hot as his thirst. He pushed himself from the mattress, tripped on the thick Persian rug, and stumbled to the ground. With a low growl he shot up from the floor and dressed, racing for the door, cracking the hinges free of the jamb as he threw it open. He ran, taking deep gulps of air into his lungs.

Want. Need. Desire. Thirst.

His emotions ran the gamut, cycling through him like boiling storm clouds. The house was dark, pockets of artificial light illuminating the long hallway to the staircase. Michael stumbled as he rushed down the hallway, his desperation rising to a fevered pitch. He couldn’t stand being locked up in this fucking tomb, shut out from the world. Each step down the staircase was rushed, his fingers cracking the wooden banister from his unyielding grip.