Authors: Joey W. Hill
Vampire Trinity (57 page)
In short, when Daegan firmly indicated they would be departing for home, the Council simply waved them off. Uthe, with dry humor, indicated they would trust him to monitor his domestic situation and advise the Council if there were any problems. Though Gideon still felt Daegan had taken an excessive gamble, it had paid off. The exposure of Lord Stephen, and Daegan’s dispatch of Xavier’s potential threat in the Council’s very backyard, had restored their full confidence in their personal assassin. For now. He had no illusions about the consistency of vampire loyalties.
Any short-term conflict they faced going forward wouldn’t likely come from the Council, though. The most immediate problem appeared to be that still-unthawed wall of ice Anwyn had erected around her, threatening to freeze him to death every time Gideon came near her.
He studied her now as the Gulfstream leveled from takeoff. She’d chosen a seat diagonally from him, which prevented any casual contact. She’d touched him very little during the past twenty-four hours, except for disgustingly neutral Mother Teresa-type touches of his brow or pulse, making sure he was recovering well. It wasn’t like she was angry. She was just . . . withdrawn. Deep inside herself, chewing on something he knew didn’t bode well.
“I don’t know whether it’s reassuring or scary to find out that vampire governing councils can be just as fucked-up as human ones,” he observed, making another foray.
“I think Daegan handled the situation capably. It left no doubt in their minds that you and I are in good hands,” Anwyn responded, her gaze not leaving her laptop screen.
Yep, still in full passive-aggressive mode, which made it impossible to penetrate or aggravate her. So far she’d stayed impervious to any attempt to draw her out, though he’d withheld some of his more obnoxious tactics. None of them wanted more issues to address until they were safely on home turf. She’d made it to the car that night before she had a full-blown seizure, one that had pretty much rendered her insensible for half a day and destroyed the interior of Brian’s Mercedes, which Daegan promised to have restored. Thank God for the Council’s distraction and Brian’s discretion.
From Daegan’s speculative glances, Gideon suspected the reticent bastard understood what was going on with her, but he wasn’t talking, either. Gideon hadn’t yet sunk so low he’d go begging for answers.
He suppressed a sigh as she kept on working, obviously intending to pass the trip home immersed in her backlog of paperwork from the club. Membership applications to review, invoices to process and approve, proposals for a renovation she’d been planning for some time. That VIP weekend thing. Anything to keep from talking to him.
Damn it, he missed her. It was stupid, because it had been only a matter of freaking hours, but ever since he’d gotten that third mark, bonded with her over that and so many other things, he’d gotten used to the feeling of closeness . . . emotional, physical and all points in between. Easy touches and warmth, even barbed comments or her Mistress coolness. He couldn’t help comparing this moment to the trip to Berlin. She’d sat next to him for part of that flight, doing the same thing she was doing now, but telling him about it, sharing things about her business as if she wanted him to be a part of it. Leaning against him so her shoulder brushed his, giving him absent smiles, both of them responding to Daegan’s comments as he read the paper.
As he shifted, he stifled a quiet curse, finding himself stiff and tired again. He’d walked out of the club standing in his own boots, as Daegan had predicted, thanks to Anwyn’s blood, but his body was going through lethargic cycles. Lord Brian, after a quick examination, had noted he’d be fine, but should rest whenever his body demanded it. While he was impatient with it, it wasn’t the first time he’d had to make himself do what needed to be done to recover as quickly as possible from an injury. All in all, it was pretty nifty. Take an arrow through the heart, drink some blood, rest a few days, and he’d be good as new. The metal tip on the thing was the only part that made the injury serious enough to prevent a faster recovery.
If the arrow had stopped in your heart, instead of puncturing out the back, it would have killed you within seconds,
Lord Brian had offered cheerfully. Of course, he’d seemed pretty cheerful about everything since Debra had returned. When Gideon had visited him for the quick checkup before leaving for the airstrip, he’d come into the lab to find Debra pouring something into a beaker, Brian right behind her. He had his hands planted on either side of the counter, lips on her neck, hips firmly pressed up against her pretty heart-shaped ass as she smiled and tried her best to concentrate on what she was doing.
Lord Brian had offered cheerfully. Of course, he’d seemed pretty cheerful about everything since Debra had returned. When Gideon had visited him for the quick checkup before leaving for the airstrip, he’d come into the lab to find Debra pouring something into a beaker, Brian right behind her. He had his hands planted on either side of the counter, lips on her neck, hips firmly pressed up against her pretty heart-shaped ass as she smiled and tried her best to concentrate on what she was doing.
Yeah, he knew what that was like. Shit. There seemed to be no cure for the heavy weight that Anywn’s self-imposed distance seemed to be placing on his heart. His limited experience with women told him that there was little he could do except be as ingratiating as possible until she decided to let it go or vent. He didn’t ingratiate himself very well, but he’d give a lot right now to put his head on her thigh, feel the absent brush of her fingers in between typing e-mails. Hear her voice as she fussed about someone’s incompetence, or shared a funny story that Madelyn had e-mailed her about a client. God, he was pathetic.
Gideon pushed his seat back into a reclining position, turned his face toward the window again and tried not to think about it anymore. He couldn’t be anything more or less than what he was. If she had a problem with that, she’d have to deal. Though he wished to hell he knew what to do to make it better.
Anwyn looked up from her computer when Gideon’s even breath, the relative stillness of his agitated mind, told her he had succumbed to sleep. He’d done that frequently in the past day, making her realize how rarely the man actually slept. When they’d first returned from the Coffin, he’d refused to give in to it, to go to their rooms. Not until he was certain Daegan would emerge, safe and sound, from the Council chambers. She’d learned that from Brian, who’d watched over her until she regained consciousness. Vincent had reported that the vampire hunter had dozed against a column outside the great hall, his arms crossed over his broad chest, face pressed against the stone, jacket still stained with his own near-mortal blood. It had apparently made an impression on Belizar’s majordomo. Of course, Gideon had that effect on people.
Setting her computer aside, she shifted over to the seat next to him. She studied his handsome features, the lines around his eyes, the rugged toughness overlaying the fresh handsomeness of the far more carefree young man he’d once been. Swallowing, she feathered her knuckles over his brow, down along his cheek, a hard burning in her chest. She’d almost lost him. She’d heard what Brian said as well. Gideon would have died in that horrible place. She thanked whatever god’s genius insight had made vampire and servant mortality affected by different weapons, so the same could not be used against both.
Still, when the arrow had taken him in the chest, she’d doubled over in the car. Debra had twisted around as Anwyn cried out, grabbed the back of the seat for support, her hand pressed to her chest. From Debra’s expression, Anwyn had experienced a moment of total terror, thinking this was what the girl meant about knowing when one’s servant had died.
Daegan, however, had quickly caught her spinning mind in his sure grip, sending her what was happening, even as he was shielding Gideon from further attack.
She didn’t know Gideon’s favorite color, or if he preferred his eggs scrambled or boiled. Brian might say it was all biology, the blood connection, that made it feel as if a vital part of her heart resided within his powerful frame. But it didn’t explain why he’d attracted her long before he’d become her servant, or why, when he’d spent his life moving toward solitude and sure death, that he’d finally joined his life to hers.
Maybe it had been desperation, his soul reaching for something his mind and heart were too far gone to accept. Too little, too late. The truth was she couldn’t keep him. He’d always known it. Now she knew it, too, and she wouldn’t risk his life, or her heart, any further.
Bowing her head, she let the pain of it wash over her, and slid back into her chair. Glancing up, she saw Daegan watching her. While there was pain in his expression, telling her he heard her thoughts, she shook her head. She couldn’t handle any advice that would be a balm on the obvious. At the moment it hurt too damn much. All of it hurt too much, and it was all the wrong kind of pain.
“It’s time for you to choose, Gideon.”
Gideon jumped as he came out of the bathing chamber. She’d startled him.
Anwyn bit her lip at his reaction, another tiny pain amid many larger ones. Even though she’d gone up earlier with Daegan to do a nighttime round of Atlantis while Gideon showered, Gideon usually stayed locked into her whereabouts, a comforting presence in the back of her brain. However, given that she’d been shutting him out the three days since they’d been back, she couldn’t fault him for withdrawing some. Hell, he’d probably been relieved not to have to walk on eggshells around her for at least a half hour.
He’d tolerated her treatment longer than she would have expected. Gideon Green wasn’t a doormat, and his patience was zero. Maybe he’d sensed what was coming and wanted to delay it, as she did. Or maybe it was because he would let her abuse him in a way she’d never permit anyone else to do, a shameful thought.
He hadn’t completely avoided it, though, like she had. On the first day back, he’d approached her with heartbreaking tenderness, asking her point-blank what he could do to fix whatever it was he’d done. But she, who had stood up to the Council, who’d faced down Xavier in his club, surrounded by hostile vampires, couldn’t tell him. At least she hadn’t lied. She’d said it was something she was working out and she’d tell him in her own time. Told him to focus on recuperating and stop worrying about her.
At night, she stayed busy in her home office, leaving them to watch television or do whatever men did. Practice weapons or martial arts. Daegan even started teaching Gideon how to use a bullwhip, something she’d been almost tempted to go watch, and give tips, but had stopped herself.
That first dawn, and each of the two dawns after, she’d gone to Daegan’s bed and hadn’t invited Gideon to join them, as she might have before. She’d shut her mind like a trap, unable to handle his confused and hurt reaction. She couldn’t even look at his face as she vaguely encouraged him to use her bed rather than the couch for his comfort and recuperation. Day or night, she’d said carelessly, whichever suited his sleeping schedule best.
He slept on the couch, refusing her bed. He couldn’t handle her scent there, without her in it. When she saw the thought in his mind, she almost broke, so she tried not to listen to anything else, pouring more energy into that screen between them than she ever had before. She knew she’d successfully been able to keep him out of the part of her mind dealing with this issue. He’d probed hard a couple times, and she’d set him back on his heels for it, so he’d quit, with a mutinous look, but he didn’t know what the worried look in his eyes did to her heart. She felt like a multitude of cracks were starting to run through it, the prelude to a full shattering into dozens of pieces.
It had made her even crueler. When she’d needed blood, she’d asked him—or rather the wall in front of her—to drain it into a cup and mix it with wine for her. She knew how he anticipated the intimacy they shared when she took her preferred position in his lap and brought her lips to his throat. She’d denied him even that. The first time she’d done it, he’d left it on the kitchen counter, reaching out into her mind to let her know it was ready, and then left the apartment for several hours.
She couldn’t risk any of it. Couldn’t risk his thoughts, sharing a bed or drinking from him. It wasn’t deliberate cruelty; it was resolve. If she twined herself around him, touched him, allowed herself his body, she’d rationalize herself away from the truth. Pleasure was a poor substitute for what she really wanted—his heart and soul.
On day three, hurt had begun to shift to his familiar bitter anger, his mind twisting in ugly thoughts. As she prepared to leave him for the dawn, headed for Daegan’s bed, Gideon had demanded she tell him what the fuck was going on. She’d felt numb, because she knew it was time. She told him she wanted one more day.
Daegan wouldn’t help or hinder, damn him. She hadn’t asked his opinion, but she would have welcomed it. However, when she came to his bed that morning, she’d seen in his eyes he knew too well what was happening, and that he knew this was her decision to make. Instead, he let her spoon inside the shelter of his body, curl in a ball. He’d folded himself around her, giving her shelter but no sanctuary from her own thoughts.
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