The Last True Vampire (20 page)

“No.” Claire set her cards aside and drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them close. “I don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because you still want me to call you Michael for starters.”

Again with this foolishness? Michael pushed himself up from the floor and blew out a gust of breath. “It shouldn’t matter to you what name I choose to go by.”

“It matters if it’s a lie.”

Infuriating female.
“It’s only a lie if you choose to see it as one. It doesn’t change who I am.”

“Exactly!” Claire stood as well, scattering cards in her wake. Her hair cascaded over one shoulder in a golden sheet and her cheeks flushed with anger that sparked his bloodlust further. “So why lie about it? It doesn’t change who you are,
Mikhail
.”

His secondary fangs punched down in his gums and a growl built in his chest. “You lied. Gave me a false name the first night we met.”

“No kidding!” Claire spat. “Because I was hustling you. I lied to you, but I wasn’t lying to myself. Which is what you do every single day. You lie to yourself about who you really are and there’s no way I can trust you—
at all
—as long as you continue to do that.”

How could he explain to her the pain he felt? The guilt? The responsibility that wearing that name weighed him down with? It was a mantle he’d cast off for a reason, and she insisted on draping it over him again and again without thought.

“Ronan says—”

“I don’t give a fuck-all what Ronan says!” Michael railed, the words scorching a path up his throat. “He oversteps just as you do.” He stalked toward her but Claire stood her ground, her chin raised defiantly. “You don’t know the pain you cause me every single time you speak that name.” Pain, yes. But pleasure, too. A pleasure so intense it cut through him like a well-honed blade and burned him with a heat that rivaled the Sortiari’s cleansing fire. He didn’t want her to call him Mikhail because it only made him want her more. Crave her with an intensity that he didn’t understand and couldn’t stop. Unless they could find proof that Claire was indeed a Vessel, she could never be anything more to him than a blood source. And that fact made him want to shout his ire at the gods and cut a bloody swath that left nothing but destruction in his path. Anything to dull the heartache and inexplicable sense of loss he felt each and every time she spoke his name.

“No, I suppose I don’t know the pain I cause you.” Claire fixed him with a caustic glare as her jaw took a stubborn set. “Because you haven’t told me anything about you! I’ve been a prisoner in this house for almost a week with no explanation besides that it’s for my own protection. I’ve stayed. Even after you
rejected
me. And it’s not even because I didn’t have a choice, but because every instinct in my body is screaming at me to trust you. How can I, though, when you keep so much from me? Trust isn’t a one-way street, Mikhail. If you want my trust, you have to give me yours. So until you decide to pull your heavy-handed, stubborn head out of your ass, don’t talk to me. And since you don’t seem to respond to anything other than anger, I’m giving you an ultimatum. You’ve got exactly twenty-four hours to give me a good reason why I should stay here with you. If you can’t, then I’m out of here. For good.”

“Rejected you?” Gods, it took a sheer act of will to keep himself from her. “What are you talking about?”

“That night!” Her jaw clenched tight and she let out a strained breath. “You want my trust? I let you bite me, Mikhail! Practically handed myself over to you on a silver platter like some fancy dinner special! And what did you do? You pulled away, acted as though I’d done something wrong. I trusted you, Mikhail. And you didn’t trust me back.” She laughed without emotion. “Hell, you didn’t even want me.”

She turned and headed toward the foyer. Michael felt her slipping away like water through a sieve. “Claire, do not leave this house.” He stalked after her, his fists balled at his sides. He couldn’t explain his irrational fear any more than he could control it. He had no reason to believe that the Sortiari—or anyone besides Ronan, for that matter—knew where she was, and his property was well protected. But his gut clenched at the thought of her stepping out the door and into the night.

“Go to hell, Mikhail,” she spat as she jerked open the front door. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”

The door slammed behind her with a finality that Michael felt in his very bone marrow. If she left now, he’d have no chance of finding her. Not a drop of her blood remained in his body. Ronan had warned him, but he’d chosen not to heed the male’s warnings. In treating Claire as though she were nothing more than a possession—a fancy dinner special—Michael had pushed her away. He was a foolish, stubborn ass and if he didn’t open up to her, let her in, he’d lose her and any hope of rebuilding his race. Forever.

He had little experience with tender emotions such as patience, understanding, or even love. Centuries of soullessness and apathy had done him well in battle, and though he’d cared for Ilya, their relationship had little to do with tender emotions and more with raw lust. The pain he’d felt when he lost her reflected the destruction of his race more than her specifically. And over the past century, his rarely beating heart had hardened to stone. Michael Aristov had no need of emotions.

Until now.

Careful not to alert her to his presence, Michael eased open the front door and stepped out into the warm night air. He caught her scent on the breeze, sweeter than any of the flowers that graced his vast garden. Solar lights illuminated a path through the hedges and flower beds to the large fountain in the center of the three-thousand-square-foot space. Each inch of it was carefully manicured and planted with night-blooming species. Moonflowers and jasmine, night queen and Casablanca lilies. Michael would never see the roses in the light of day or the vibrant orange of the birds-of-paradise against a blue sky, but he didn’t care. He saw as well at night as anyone else did in full light. And the flowers were just as fragrant under a cloak of darkness as they were under the punishing rays of the sun. Perhaps more so. But none of the beauty his garden possessed could hold a candle to the woman sitting at the edge of the fountain, caressing the water with her fingertips.

“I can feel you.” Claire didn’t turn to face him, simply kept her attention focused on the pool of water that rippled under her touch. He walked slowly toward her as though afraid that she’d take flight at the slightest movement. “It’s like you’re under my skin. Embedded in a part of my brain that I never knew existed. You’re my sixth sense, Mikhail.” She gave a rueful laugh. “Whatever that means. I know I don’t have any right to be so mad. It’s not like I’ve been an open book. I don’t talk about my life because I’m embarrassed. I’m a hustler. A liar. My mom was a drug addict and a thief and I don’t even know who my father is. I barely graduated high school and I have nothing to show for my life. What about you, Mikhail? What do you have to be ashamed of that you won’t share anything about your life with me? You’re frustrated by the distance between us, but it’s you that’s causing it. Why make me stay if you’re not interested in anything but my blood? We could fix that issue with a plastic bag and some IV tubing. What am I to you? You know, besides meals on wheels.”

*   *   *

It shouldn’t have mattered what he thought or felt about her. He was little more than a stranger. A self-appointed babysitter. Her jailer. And yet the way he shut her out, refused to talk about himself at all, cut her to the quick.
Like you’ve been so forthcoming about your life, Claire?
This entire situation was bat-shit insane. Vampires? Dhampirs? Secret societies and supernatural assassins?
Good god.
Maybe she’d died on the sidewalk a week ago and all of this was some strange purgatory. Her punishment for being a liar and a thief. Insanity, the penance she’d have to pay before she was allowed to go to heaven. Because there wasn’t a damned thing about what was going on right now that could be classified as sane.

A ripple chased over her skin with each step Mikhail took toward her. Her acute awareness of his presence unnerved her. Excited her. Awakened something deep inside of her that had remained dormant until now.

“What are you to me?” His voice coiled around her in a velvet caress, as dark and warm as the night sky. “Claire. You are
everything
.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and she willed the traitorous flow to cease. No one had ever needed her. Cared enough about her to worry whether she was alive or dead. She barely knew him, yet Mikhail’s words meant more to her than he could know. The honesty of those words vibrated through every molecule that constructed her. How was it possible to feel such a strong connection to someone she’d only known for a week?

Cool water slipped through her fingers. It wasn’t good for her to stay here, living like a princess in a castle. Sooner or later the fantasy would have to come to an end. She’d return to her crappy run-down apartment with no food in the fridge and pulling bills out of a hat as she tried to decide whether the power or water bill would get paid that month. No more servants, no more fancy sports cars. No more
GQ
handsome man to keep watch over her. Because just like all good things, this would eventually have to come to an end.

He sat behind her on the ledge of the fountain, so close that a tingle vibrated over her skin from the almost contact. So far from the city, the only sound was that of crickets chirping as Mikhail took a deep breath and held it in his lungs. “You smell like the forest in summer,” he said on a breath. “Flowers in full bloom. Your blood is the headiest scent of all, though. It goes straight to my head, like an aged brandy. I could become drunk from nothing more than a sip.”

Pretty words. And just like the brandy he spoke of, those words heated her body to the boiling point. But that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Not really. “Tell me something real, Mikhail. Something about
you
.” She didn’t dare look at him, didn’t trust herself when he was close enough to touch. “Give me something, any reason at all to trust you.”

He swept her hair away from her shoulder and she shivered when his fingertips brushed where her shoulder met her neck. His breath was warm as his lips hovered near her ear. “I was born in Kiev in the year 1622. My father was a warrior and a king; my mother came from an Irish coven and was a princess in her own right. I was raised to fight alongside my father. To beat back the slayers who sought to wipe us from the face of the earth. I fought, fed, fucked my way through centuries of existence. I took a female as my consort and we lived in relative content. I didn’t trouble myself with mates or bonds. I cared little for the return of my soul. My only concern was the obliteration of my enemies. In turn, my enemies obliterated everything I knew. And now I am the last of the Ancient Ones and the entirety of my race’s collective memories lives within me.”

Truth. It rang through her with the clarity of a church bell. A low rumble vibrated in Mikhail’s chest, a contented purr that turned Claire’s bones to mush. “Who was the woman?” Jealousy flared hot in her veins, but why? She couldn’t understand the sharp pang any more than she could the inexplicable connection she felt to the man sitting behind her.

“Ilya. Daughter of Viktor Delov. He was the warlord of our coven.”

Claire let her fingers drift through the water, back and forth, back and forth. Mikhail leaned in toward her and his hands curled around her hips, gripping her tight. “A slayer killed Ilya. Pulled the womb from her body while she still lived. And when none remained but me, he taunted me with the knowledge. Burned and tortured me. Flayed the skin from my body and threw it into the flames. And when I thought I’d go mad from the need for revenge and from my own helplessness, the slayer pierced my chest with a silver-tipped stake and left me for dead at the bottom of a tomb.”

Truth.

Claire’s breath caught in her chest and she eased herself toward him until her back rested against the unyielding wall of Mikhail’s muscled chest. His hands snaked around her waist and he pulled her closer. Such a natural place to be, held in his embrace. Claire trembled, fearful of her reaction to him and the ease at which he put her. “How did you survive?”

Mikhail’s lips came to rest at her ear and he inhaled deeply, holding his breath in his lungs for a long moment. “I was weak. Starved. Hopeless and helpless. Alone. I lay in that dank, dark, cramped black hole for a century feeding on rodents and whatever small creature found its way inside. One hundred years before I could gather the strength necessary to slide the heavy stone lid aside and set myself free.”

Claire’s hands snaked around his and she squeezed him tight. “One hundred years?” she breathed. The span of time was incomprehensible to her. “Mikhail…” Her heart ached for him. For everything he’d lost. Suffered. Survived.

His lips found the juncture of her jaw and throat. Claire shuddered at the wet heat of his tongue and tilted her head to the side to give him better access. He opened his mouth wide, the scrape of his fangs across her skin causing Claire’s abdomen to tighten and her sex to throb. She reached back and threaded her fingers through the hair at his nape as her head fell back to rest on his shoulder.

“Why did you turn me away like that? I thought that you wanted me, but…”

“I’ve never wanted
anything
as much as I want you.” His fingers traced a path along the shell of her ear and she shivered. “I wasn’t turning you away, Claire. I was protecting you.”

“From what?” she murmured.

“From me.”

“Mikhail, I think it’s time you let me decide what I need protection from.” She reached up, dragged the tips of her fingers across his jaw, her nails catching on the short stubble. “Because it sure as hell isn’t you.”

“I’ll never take sustenance from another for the remainder of my existence. Never put my hands upon another female. You belong to me as surely as I am bound to you. And that knowledge will be my undoing as surely as any stake driven into my heart.”