The Last True Vampire (37 page)

“Good.” Mikhail led the woman to where Claire sat against the far wall. With every step placed, her hunger mounted.
Delicate. Easy to harm.
Claire heeded the warning even though an instinct deep within her urged her to attack. To ravage.

He knelt beside Claire and guided the woman to do the same. Her eyes were glazed over, her pupils nothing more than pinpricks. A dreamy expression painted her sharp features, and as Mikhail guided her wrist to Claire’s mouth the woman’s arm seemed to float up as though resting on a cloud.

“Drink,” he instructed.

Claire locked her gaze with Mikhail’s as she took the woman’s wrist into her palms. As if the woman were a baby bird, delicate and oh, so breakable, Claire cradled her as she lowered her mouth to the rivulets of blood that trickled from the wounds. Her own tiny fangs punctured the skin and the woman let out a low moan as Claire began to drink.

So
much better than Krispy Kremes.

She bit down harder and Mikhail’s brows drew down sharply. “Treat her with care, love. Or I’ll punish you.”

It should have scared her, but his dark warning sent a thrill through her center. Desire warred with the thirst that began to slowly abate with each deep pull on the woman’s wrist. Her blood was thick and sweet. Extinguished the burn that radiated throughout Claire’s body. She was flooded with a burst of energy and power unlike anything she’d ever felt. Strength, vitality, the very essence of life itself, coursed through her veins and Claire sucked harder, desperate for more of the high that dizzied her as the floor seemed to fall out from beneath her.

“That’s enough.”

Mikhail’s command resonated in her mind and she released the woman in an instant.

“Close the wounds, Claire. Don’t leave her to bleed out.”

Instinct prompted Claire and through the vast memories of vampire-kind she found the instruction that she needed to proceed. She nicked her tongue with the tip of one sharp fang and sealed her mouth over the woman’s wrist, closing the wounds with gentle passes of her tongue.

She looked at Mikhail to find him beaming, as though proud that she could properly feed herself. An infant in this new stage of existence, she might as well have used a fork for the first time.

“Very good, love.”

Kudos to her! Another surge of power washed over her and Claire teetered into Mikhail’s embrace. How she could be so full of energy and so exhausted at the same time was truly a wonder. But holy crap, did she need a nap.

CHAPTER

29

“I told you she’d survive.”

Mikhail gave Ronan a sidelong glance. “She hasn’t survived anything yet. She’s insatiable, Ronan. We still don’t know how much it will take to make her bloodlust abate.”

“Oh, it’ll abate.” Ronan chuckled. Mikhail wanted to put a fist to the other male’s face for his smug optimism. “It just might take a stadium’s worth of humans to see it done.”

So far, the attempts to satisfy Claire’s bloodlust had ended with less-than-favorable results. Her body had rejected dhampir blood, and the seizures she experienced after her first feeding had been horrible to behold. She’d had no problem feeding from Mikhail, as he was not only her maker but also her mate. He was still too weak from turning her, though, and he’d fed her from his own vein until he had nothing left to give her and barely enough to sustain himself. As they searched for a solution, they came to the conclusion that human blood might nourish her. Claire was human after all. Or at least, she had been. It served to reason that she could feed from humans and get the sustenance she needed. And though this last attempt to feed her had been a success, they still didn’t know how much it would take to sustain her. Would he have to employ a houseful of humans in order to keep her bloodlust at bay?

Ronan was sure that Claire would pull through. Mikhail was hopeful. That she’d survived the transition at all was a miracle. And he wasn’t interested in testing fate with arrogant overconfidence. There were other differences, too. She didn’t possess two sets of fangs like every other vampire he’d ever known but only one set with tiny, sharp points like a dhampir. Her eyes flashed with preternatural power, but rather than silver, Claire’s eyes flashed a bright shining gold. And those were just the differences he could see. She seemed to be a species apart from all of them.

Mikhail’s worry mounted with each new secret discovered, in every minute that passed. Her strength rivaled even his, and when possessed with thirst she was truly a sight to behold. Wild. Intimidating. With a sharp focus that sent a chill over his skin. The Collective pressed upon her mind, but she seemed to handle the burden well. The simple scent of blood had been enough to free her from its grip.

“You’re going to need a good sub-contractor when all of this is said and done.”

Mikhail looked around the wrecked bedroom. Broken furniture, five-foot holes in the walls. The floorboards cracked and sinking into the sub-floor. He scrubbed a hand over his face and let out a slow sigh as he set an unconscious Claire back onto the bed. At least there was one similarity between them. Adjusting to vampiric strength was hard enough for dhampirs. He could only imagine how difficult the transition must be for a human.

Too much. It’s just too much
.

Ronan sat in a crooked wing chair, the leg broken the first time Claire had regained consciousness. He gave a sad shake of his head and scoffed. “You’re so busy worrying about her, you haven’t quieted your own mind long enough feel the change.”

Mikhail arched a curious brow. “What are you talking about?” Besides the fact that Ronan looked ridiculous lounging in the ruined chair, that expression of superiority was about to snap the meager hold Mikhail had on his temper.

“It won’t be long before the majority of dhampir society comes knocking at your door.”

“For the love of the gods, Ronan!” Mikhail railed. “Stop being such an asinine tease and spit it out, already!”

Ronan snorted. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle an ass.”

Mikhail leveled his gaze.

“She’s like the cold fusion of vampires!” Ronan finally exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration. “Jesus, Mikhail, are you seriously going to tell me that you haven’t felt it?”

Mikhail went deathly still. He’d been so preoccupied with worry for Claire’s well-being that he truly hadn’t given any thought to her power once she’d been turned. In fact, he’d shut her out entirely, blocking the bond between them just in case he inadvertently took from her stores or she likewise funneled power to him.

Curiosity won out over anger at Ronan for drawing on Claire’s energy so soon after her transition. Slowly, Mikhail lowered the barrier between them, opening himself fully to Claire. Their bond flared like a flash grenade on a darkened battlefield and he swayed on his feet from the impact.

“I told you,” Ronan said with a smirk. “Cold. Fusion.”

Mikhail had never felt so much concentrated power in all the centuries of his existence. It pulsed around him. Through him. Infusing him with strength and vitality the likes of which ignited his own spark, adding to her fire until they created a supernova. “My gods,” he breathed. “It’s—”

“Amazing?” Ronan ventured. “Indescribable? Better than an eight ball and a roomful of hookers?”

“It’s miraculous.”
Unreal. Wondrous.
Mikhail could go on and on.

“I found something in the codex,” Ronan said. “A Vessel isn’t just a unique human who can sustain the change and the Collective. I’d thought the reference alluded to the burden she’d be able to bear. But it doesn’t.”

“What does it mean, then?”

“She’s a Vessel of
power
. A font that never runs dry. Those Sortiari fools thought that Fate wanted her dead. But I think that Fate sent her here to save us. To save you, Mikhail.”

His wonder was quickly replaced by fear. “How can I possibly protect her, Ronan? Like you said, the dhampirs will come to her in droves. The fanatics will worship her like a goddess. Others—like Siobhan—will see her as a threat. And when the Sortiari piece it all together, they’ll come after her with a ruthlessness that will make their last attack look like loving attention in comparison.”

“Maybe she doesn’t need you at all,” Ronan suggested. Did the male live his life to deliver thinly veiled insults? “I’ll be willing to bet that Claire can take care of herself.”

“She’s yet to remain conscious for more than fifteen minutes at a time,” Mikhail countered. “And she has no recollection of what’s happened to her as far as I can tell. I’ve no doubt that she’s capable of taking care of herself. She was capable long before I met her. But how can she fight if she can’t even keep her eyes open?”

“The transition has taken a lot out of her,” Ronan replied. “And I know from experience that trying to adjust to the Collective is beyond challenging.”

Mikhail snorted.
Challenging.
It was a gods-damned curse. “As soon as Claire is stronger, I’ll turn Jenner.” The male was formidable, honorable, and he’d been instrumental in saving Claire. If Ronan was Mikhail’s right hand, then Jenner was certainly the weapon that arm wielded. Three vampire males did not an army make, however. In their history, no single male had ever had to rebuild the race. The bureaucracy of it all made Mikhail’s head spin. First, he’d need candidates. Strong in both body and mind. Dhampirs who’d be thoroughly vetted. But he couldn’t allow the process to be perceived as elitist. In his youth, each coven was responsible for deciding who would be turned and when. Petitions were made. Answers given by a council. There was so much more to consider. And of course there was: “Siobhan.”

“What about her?” Ronan cast a suspicious glance Mikhail’s way and pinned him with his stare. “We were talking about Jenner, remember? I think it’s you who needs to feed, my friend.”

“She wants you.” Before he moved forward Mikhail needed to get to the bottom of Ronan’s relationship with the female. She was a dangerous variable. One he didn’t have time to address at the moment. “Why?”

Ronan’s gaze narrowed. “You’re a suspicious bastard, you know that?”

The question didn’t warrant a response. He simply quirked a curious brow.

“She doesn’t want me to fight for her or help to further her cause.” Ronan squirmed in his seat and let out an aggrieved sigh. “Siobhan is shrewd. She knows how to get what she wants and isn’t above extortion to get it.”

“You bargained with her for the codex. What did you give her in return?”

“None of your fucking business, that’s what.” Ronan’s tone darkened and storm clouds gathered in his expression. “You can rest assured that my arrangement with Siobhan has nothing to do with you or yours. It doesn’t compromise my oath of fealty to you.”

“But she wants your oath to be hers,” Mikhail said. “She told me as much.”

“Yeah, well, what Siobhan wants from me and what she gets are two completely different things. She’ll have to settle for what I’ve chosen to offer her. The rest is none of your concern.”

Mikhail inclined his head. For what it was worth, he trusted Ronan. Reaching at least a temporary peace with the female was on Mikhail’s quickly growing to-do list. But until he was assured that Claire was going to pull through the transition, many items were going to remain uncrossed off.

*   *   *

A vast, intricate web of bright color stretched out before Claire. She turned, only to see more of the interconnecting veins of light. Turned again. And again. She stood at its center, a bright field of gold beneath her feet. Solid. Like a well-tended plot of grass. Beside her, another field shone like a sheet of silver under the sun. The two melted together, stretching out through the veins, weaving and twining to form a perfect blend of the two colors that were so different and yet so alike. Silver and gold. Fire and ice. The sun and a heavy rain.

She traced the patterns with her gaze, marveling at them, form without end. Each vein connected to another, and another and another. And like all rivers flow to the sea, each tributary of the pattern ended at her feet.

For the first time in days, Claire’s mind was clear. As her lids cracked, the image of the web vanished from her mind’s eye. Though she couldn’t see it, she felt it. In every fiber of her being, it pulsed around her. A living, breathing thing.

Mikhail’s bedroom was dark, the heavy shutters pulled down over the windows. It was midday. The sun had reached its zenith and would soon begin its descent to make way for night. She didn’t have to see the sun to know where it was. Her awareness of it was keen, prickling across her flesh. And yet she didn’t fear its presence.

Her mind had never been so clear. So in tune with her body and soul. Details of memory began to unfurl in her mind starting from the moment Gregor had strapped her down to that damned table and ending now. Everything before that was still a blur, the memories just past her grasp. At the forefront of her thoughts was a truth that distracted her from what she couldn’t yet remember.
Holy crap!
Mikhail had actually turned her.

She slid from beneath the covers, mindful of every motion. The room was in shambles, holes in the walls, furniture overturned and smashed. From the looks of it, she’d thrown one hell of a rager. No doubt she’d racked up the sort of repair bill that would make a rock star proud. Mikhail was probably pissed.

An unquenchable thirst burned at the back of her throat, but Claire no longer felt as though it mastered her. Instead, it was more like being really, really thirsty after running a marathon. You wanted to guzzle a gallon of water more than you wanted your next breath and all anyone would give you was one of those kiddie-sized paper Solo cups. Sure, it was frustrating. But it wasn’t going to kill you.

In the corner of the room, in a broken wing chair, her vampire slept.

Her vision no longer hindered by the dark, Claire’s gaze caressed the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, and lower, past the sexy dimple in his chin—the one she wanted to lick—to the column of his throat. She closed her eyes and listened to the slow, erratic beat of his heart, and behind her closed lids the web of gold and silver reappeared, and next to her the field of silver grew bright and dim in time with his heartbeat. Those lights that wove into the web were dimmer than the gold ones now. They sparked and sputtered, like a candle about to blow out.