Blood Curse (21 page)

"You're sick because of me."

"That's nonsense."

"Your mother already told me, Rialto. You can't deny it. You need my blood to survive."

"Possibly."

"Possibly?
Possibly?
Is that all you're going to say? You could die!"

"Well, seeing as how I should have died over a hundred years ago, I'd say I'm overdue for it, wouldn't you?"

"Don't talk like that. It's not the least bit funny."

There was something in her tone that unsettled him. He turned to look at her, noting the deep concern in her wide, damp eyes and the hard set of her jaw. She was either terrified or pissed. “Relax, Aria. I'm not going to go jump off a building in an attempt to end my life. Even if I did I would land on my feet.” He smiled, trying to ease her mind, but she didn't soften.

"You wouldn't jump off of a building, but would you lie in the sun? Would you do something so selfish and stupid?” Her voice rose with each word until she was nearly shouting. A stray tear escaped from her eye, trickling down her cheek.

Rialto felt his chest tighten, memories best left forgotten creeping back into the center of his mind. He'd tried to kill himself by sunlight many, many years ago. He'd punished himself for the murder of Antonia, but how would she possibly know that? “What all did you see in your dream, Aria?"

"I told you, and you're not going to get away with changing the subject."

"And just what is the subject? You're suddenly very angry with me and I haven't a clue as to why.” Hell, maybe he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. If she was angry with him she'd be less likely to put him in a position to lose control and change her over. But it still hit a nerve. He didn't want her angry with him, at least not without a good reason.

"Your life has value, Rialto."

"Ohh-kay.” He stared at her, trying to read her face, figure out what was going on in her mind, but to his surprise, couldn't read her thoughts. It was as though she had thrown up a wall, a mental block to keep him from intruding.

"I'm going to sleep on the sofa,” Aria snapped and then turned to leave, muttering a slew of colorful curses under her breath.

"Aria, wait."

"No. You need to rest. Look at you!"

Rialto groaned. The last thing he wanted was to see how pathetic and weak he must look. He felt like he had been put through the wringer at least twice. “Thanks. You really do know how to perk up a guy's ego.” He was relieved when he saw her lips quirk, almost giving in to a smile. “I wanted to tell you that I'm going to find your mother's killer."

"You've already told me that."

"No, I mean it. I meant it then too, but . . .” He swallowed hard when he saw the exasperation on her face and what looked like a trace of sympathy. That irked him. “What I'm trying to say is that I'm going to do a better job of it starting the moment I wake tonight. We've let our attraction interfere, Aria. We have to stop that right now if we want to find the monster that took your mother away from you."

Aria nodded, meekly dropping her gaze to the floor, but she hadn't looked away quickly enough. He'd seen the guilt in the depths of her eyes. “You're a good daughter, Aria."

She looked at him, her eyes shimmering with restrained tears, and he felt an ache in his chest that almost made him forget men weren't supposed to cry. He felt her pain as if it were his own. If he didn't die from refusing her blood, he would die from caring for her. What brewed between them was just too intense.

She gave a miserable shake of her head. “A good daughter would never stray from the goal. I've been so worried about you . . ."

"That's my fault,” he quickly interrupted. “I allowed things to happen that never should have taken place. You
are
a good daughter. What you have been subjected to these last few days . . . It's bigger than you. You just got swept away in the tide. We both did, but I won't allow it to happen again."

She nodded again, firmer this time. “So we stay strictly business, until we get this guy."

"We stay strictly business, period. For both our sakes."

Her eyes widened as if she'd been slapped, but only for a second. She quickly composed herself and nodded in agreement. “You're right. It's for the best."

Rialto should have been relieved, happy even, that she agreed with him so easily, but something inside his chest ached. It was a good thing he didn't need air in his lungs to live because he couldn't quite breathe.

"Okay.” He found himself standing by the bed, looking at her, waiting. But what was he waiting for? Did he expect her to cry, to declare her undying love for him? Beg him to make love to her again? That was exactly what they both needed to avoid so why couldn't he just let go of the passion he felt for her? Passion be damned, he had a job to do.

"All right then. I'll see you at twilight. Christian will see to it that you're fed and taken care of when he wakes for his afternoon prayer session.” He walked past her, pushing through the dizziness that was increasing with every step he took. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at her, watching her in profile as she fluffed the bed pillows, readying herself for sleep, and wondered why he felt as though he had just lost something very, very important.

Eron groaned as consciousness crept back in. He strained to focus his eyes but all he got for his effort was one big blur. Closing his eyes, he relied on his other senses, not that his telepathic abilities were working, but he still had hypersensitive hearing and sense of smell. Smelling could backfire, he had already discovered, as he was in some type of laboratory filled with odors that made his sensitive eyes burn as though they were filled with the fires of hell. Still, he knew if he ever got out of here he would have to know what was in the fluid his captor kept injecting into his system. You couldn't destroy something if you didn't know what it was. He couldn't put a name to all of the chemicals he smelled, but he could run tests, matching smell to chemical name.

If
he got out of here.

He growled, the sound soft and impotent, failing to release his frustration. Instead, it made him angrier. He was Eron, a king amongst his kind. He hadn't run across a vampire older than himself in centuries. They were around, but not so many that their paths would cross. Most of the older vampires were the Elders, the most powerful and respected of their kind. They were rumored to live above the rest of the world in the Ancient Palace, a mountain region settled in the clouds where they were invisible to man and vampire-kind. They sat there on their thrones and watched the world beneath them, judging the entire vampire race.

Eron chose not to believe the rumors, instead believing they had gone underground, burying themselves deep in the earth where they could live mummified for an indefinite amount of time, a feat only the oldest and most powerful could do. But either way, they were probably laughing at him right now.

How had he been captured?

He struggled to find the answer to the question that had been looming over him during his entire imprisonment. How long had it been? He had tried keeping track of the days in his mind, but after the first month the blood loss reached a level that made him virtually incapable of tracking anything. His internal clock had failed him, along with many of his other vampiric abilities. The lab he was confined in was windowless, and if he was correct, underground.

He slowly opened his eyes, allowing them time to adjust to the harsh glare of the overhead lights. Bright light was painful to a vampire's sensitive eyes, a fact which Eron suspected his captor knew well. Indeed, his captor seemed to know a lot about vampires, as if he had studied them extensively for several years. He wondered if he was the first guinea pig manacled in this lab, or if others had hung from the same wall, eventually dying from the pain and blood loss.

Eron wouldn't die easily. He was confident in that. Even though he was drained repeatedly of his life preserving blood, it would take far more than that to kill him. As long as he still had some blood in him, any amount at all, he would survive. He was nearing the stage of his life where he could go underground and live in the earth as a mummy for centuries. He might do just that if he ever managed to escape.

Seta would dig him up and kill him for being so stupid.

He struggled to call out for her, but he couldn't. Their mental link was completely destroyed. The repeated blood loss was too great. If he weren't so old, he'd have been dead weeks ago. He wondered if Seta could feel him at all. Surely she would come for him, but then again, she had been furious with him the last time they'd parted ways.

He should have given her what she wanted. Hell, it was what he wanted too. When he was sent to save the little witch's life he hadn't a clue that she would enthrall him so. From the first moment she'd opened her eyes as a vampiress, he was infatuated. The brightest of diamonds paled in comparison to her unmatched beauty. She was fire and ice, attitude and cold aloofness. She got what she wanted by using both magic and feminine charm.

But she was never cold with him. He had trained her, taught her the ways of a vampire. Through him she had learned their history, their code, their purpose. He taught her how to use her vampiric abilities along with her inherent magical powers to protect herself and mankind. She was a powerful protector, and the best friend he'd ever had. Eventually she became his best lover as well, and that was when things had gone wrong.

The sound of footsteps outside the lab drew Eron's attention, temporarily taking it away from the pain in his heart. His captor was returning. He could smell the man's scent over the other smells permeating the laboratory. It was his own scent. How was that possible?

The door across the room from him opened, his captor bustling in with a wide-eyed look that clearly indicated something was wrong. Eron remained silent, long ago giving up the idea that the man might give him some useful information—or at least tell him why he felt so much animosity toward him personally.

The man opened up desk drawers, rifling through papers and files in a disorganized, erratic manner, slamming the drawers shut when he apparently didn't find what he was looking for. He did the same with the drawers and storage boxes under the lab tables, then ransacked the book shelves lining the left wall of the room.

"Where is it?” The man's eyes were wild, and his shock of red hair was a mess, as though he had been running his hands through it at length. “Where the
hell
is it?” His voice elevated a few decibels as his shaking hands clenched. Then he turned his gaze toward Eron, his eyes emblazoned with hatred and distrust. “You."

He walked like a predator, his head lowered but eyes still connected to where Eron hung from the wall. “Where is it? How did you move it?"

Eron couldn't stop the small chuckle from escaping. “First, I don't know what it is you're looking for, and second, I'm kind of at a disadvantage here. If I could move anything it would be my ass out of these manacles."

"You're talking much better today, like you've got some of your strength back. Maybe you have other powers back."

"Trust me,” Eron said low and levelly, “The first thing I would have done if my powers had returned was turn your ass into barbecue when you first set foot in this room."

"Hmm . . .” The man seemed to ponder that information before retrieving a tined instrument from one of the lab tables. He walked to Eron and held the object in front of his face. “Bend it."

"Pardon me?"

"Bend it!” The man grinned devilishly as he shook the instrument for emphasis. “Bend it or I will ram it straight through your stomach."

Shit. Eron focused on the fork-like instrument, hoping like hell that a small amount of his telekinetic ability was still functioning. He was able to complete sentences without running out of breath since the man had eased off the amount of bloodletting sessions he had been subjected to for the past few months. Maybe . . . just maybe . . .

Nothing.

Eron screamed as the instrument was shoved into his midsection, the pain unbearable in his condition. “I should let you die,” the man said between clenched teeth, “but the master won't allow it yet."

The instrument was retracted, allowing air to hit the fresh wound, burning Eron to such degree he couldn't blink back the tears. He was
crying
. The man would pay for this, even if he had to come back from death to destroy him, the man would pay for weakening him to this level.

"I will kill you and the demon that controls you,” Eron managed to get out between teeth gritted against the pain searing through his body.

"Not if I find my journal first,” the man said before turning and exiting the laboratory, not stopping to bandage Eron's wound.

Eron let his head fall forward so he could inspect the damage. When he saw the blood oozing out of the open hole, vampire or not, he would have vomited had he anything in his stomach. He needed to sleep right now, reach the mending stage before he bled out completely.

He closed his eyes and summoned sleep, thinking all the while that he might never wake again.

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"Are you hungry?"

Aria jumped as Christian's voice cut into her thoughts. She'd been awake for hours. After staring at Rialto's sleeping form for as long as she could bear without touching him, all that was left to do to pass the time was think.

"A penny for your thoughts,” Christian said as he entered the room and sat at the end of the bed she was currently reclined on. “Looks like I interrupted some pretty deep thinking. What's up?"

"I'm starved, actually."

Christian grinned, looking even more handsome than usual. “And the other question I asked?"

Aria studied his face, amazed at the amount of compassion she saw in his dark blue eyes. “You really care about Rialto, don't you?"

"He's like a brother to me,” Christian answered without a moment's hesitation. “Why? What are you planning to do?"

"Can you read my mind too?” Aria shifted, a feeling of paranoia washing over her.