Broken Heart 02 Don't Talk Back to Your Vampire (20 page)

"I'm not a debt," I said, sighing. My hunger reasserted itself and I rubbed my tummy. The only thing I wanted more than food was… Lorcan.

"I will bring you sustenance."

Apparently only one of my hungers would be assuaged. I plucked at the thin sheet covering my body and wished mightily that I had the gumption to jump Lor's bones. Although I would never bind to him now, I would miss the opportunity to try a
little
hanky-panky.

A hungry vampire knows no shame. When Lor brought me the Great Dane, I managed only a token protest. The dog leapt onto my bed and lay down next to me. His fur was dark brown with splotches of black. Lor had shaved a spot on the dog's neck, which made it easier to sink my fangs into his skin.

I didn't poke at his mind until I had finished drinking. He seemed content to be a vampire snack. Like those of most dogs, his thoughts and feelings were simple. He liked how I smelled and he wanted a nap.

And he really wanted a ham bone.

"His blood tastes different." I didn't want to say "awful," because doing so would not only dishonor Lor's attempts to help me but would also insult the dog.

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"It's not ideal," said Lor. "Animal blood will not sustain you indefinitely. You need circulating human blood to maintain your health."

"And how am I supposed to get that?"

"We're testing donors. It is possible, though very unlikely, that a new strain of the taint can be carried by humans and we don't want you to infect innocents. If that turns out to be the case, we will have to rethink our food supply. Stan's been working on a way to create synthetic blood, but truthfully, he hasn't come up with a version that's been a long-term successful substitute."

"You're full of good news," I said. "And is this dog kept for feeding purposes? Or experimentation?"

"No. He's a stray. Don't tell Jessica, but I give him scraps. Sometimes he goes on walks with me."

The idea that he'd found a pet was endearing to me. I hadn't imagined Lor hanging out with a big ol' dog.

"What's his name?"

"I call him Bert."

It was such an un-dog-like name that I smiled. Lor smiled back. "I meant to ask if anyone was feeding the animals while I'm gone."

"They don't come when you're not there," replied Lorcan. "I'll bring you some books from the library, okay?"

"Why can't I go with you? That way I can choose what I like."

With Lor's encouragement, the dog leapt off my bed and padded to the door. "I'm sorry, Eva. You cannot leave this room. We can't risk it. You could infect other vampires."

"But not dogs?"

"Very unlikely."

"You don't know when I'll go loopy, do you?"

"No. The taint affects each vampire differently, but being a young Turn-blood… It may work faster on you than on a vampire centuries older."

"Then I definitely don't want Tamara in here."

"You're incapable of harming those you love. Haven't you claimed her? Put her under your protection?"

"Of course." I shook my head. "I can't risk it, Lor. Not even for a second would I put that child in jeopardy."

"If that is your wish."

Oh, he had no idea what kind of wishes I had. Contemplating the end of your existence made you long for every book you hadn't read, every boy you hadn't kissed, every person you hadn't apologized to, and every trip you hadn't taken.

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He opened the door and Bert sauntered through it first. Lor gave me one last smile and then the heavy metal clanked shut behind him.

I was left in my prison with only my thoughts… and my fears.

As the days passed, I felt more and more lethargic. Despite Stan's best efforts, he was unable to create a suitable synthetic blood or to discount donors as possible taint carriers. As much as I adored Bert, his blood was not nourishing. I felt as though I was a puzzle with a piece or two taken out of the whole every day. Soon there would be no pieces left.

Lor brought me books. When I grew too tired to read, he read stories to me. His voice was beautiful and he really brought on the Irish to entertain me. He would've made a fine actor, but I knew his performances were for an audience of only one—for
me
. He never missed a visit and he stayed for hours, amusing me with anecdotes or showing me bits of his writing to ask my opinion. Sometimes he just held my hand as I drifted in and out of consciousness.

We didn't soul-kiss or speak about binding. As much as I would've loved to play smoochy-face with Lor, it wasn't fair to act on our feelings.

I missed Tamara dreadfully, though she sent notes and bad jokes and funny drawings to me several times a day. Then Lor brought me a video-camera phone so I could see her face as I talked to her using the speaker function. Though I could tell she was worried about me, she still had that spark in her eye—and I attributed it to the flush of first love. Oh, I wanted the world for my baby. I hoped that for however long they had together, Durriken and Tamara would be happy. Well, that's how I wanted to feel. Mostly, I worried about my teenage daughter being so near a teenage boy. My only comfort was that Helene had become a vigilant chaperone, much to the kids' chagrin.

I tried to be brave and to emulate my mother, who carried the burden of her illness fully. She didn't want us to be weighed down with her pain or her worries. Only now did I comprehend how much suffering and how much fear she had kept from us. Or maybe Mom hadn't been afraid of her illness or of dying.

But I was.

One evening, after Bert had fulfilled his meal-ticket duty and lay contentedly next to me, Lor revealed a spectacular surprise: a thick leather-bound volume. When he opened it, I nearly went into bibliophile orgasm. The pages were like those of medieval manuscripts—handwritten meticulously in a beautiful script. Each gilded page was painted with gorgeous flowers, mythical creatures, and other fantastic images.

"Some of my original works, before computers," said Lorcan.

"Better than Microsoft Word," I murmured as I drew my finger along the thick parchment. "What language is it?"

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"Magic," he said. He whispered in Gaelic. Then handwriting glimmered gold and suddenly I could read the pages.

"That is the coolest!" I read the title at the top of the page: " 'Legends of the Ancients, Ruadan the First.'

"

"All the stories of the six vampires are in here," he said.

"
I
thought there were seven Ancients."

"There are. When the first council convened more than four thousand years ago, my father and the six vampires he made created the rules and the binding magic to keep their children, born and made, in line.

Every hundred years, the council meets to revise the policies and procedures, hear grievances, render judgments, issue edicts, and so forth."

"What do vampires with grievances do between council meetings? A hundred years is a long time to hold a grudge, even for a vampire."

Lorcan chuckled. "Each Ancient handles a certain section of the world. Vampires must go to their Family headquarters with their problems. If a problem makes it all the way to the hundred-year meeting, it's like a case going before the Supreme Court."

"That makes sense." Even though I knew it wasn't close to sunrise, I still felt really tired. Bert whined, lifted his head, and licked my hand. I petted him and he snuffled, then returned to his nap. "But what happened to the seventh Ancient?"

"Three thousand years ago, he went to ground. The Ancients issued what amounted to a memo saying that Amahté had chosen to rest and when the time was right, he would return to the world. In his place stepped his blood-son, Khenti, who was turned vampire like me and Padraig."

"Didn't your dad tell you why Amahté really went to ground? Or maybe he's dead."

"We know that he's not. We have no idea what would happen if an Ancient was killed, Eva. Each Family is interconnected with their abilities and their magic. If the originator passed from this realm, it might be the end of the entire Family."

"Not good," I said. My thoughts drifted like the gel bubbles in a lava lamp: slow and wobbly, bumping into each other and getting stuck. "Amahté is in the Sudan. That's the hubbub there, right?"

"We're trying to find his temple," admitted Lorcan. "Though we seemed to have stumbled on a site dedicated to Seth—the Egyptian god of chaos. We believe Amahté might've been the first to get the taint and may have created the cure. But our efforts are slow going. The dig has suffered continual setbacks, not the least of which are sabotage and murder."

"The Ancients probably don't like the idea that you're poking around."

"We have Khenti's permission, so there's not much the council can do." He sounded so defiant, I smiled.

"So, you got the stories of six of the first vampires. That must've been interesting research."

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"I interviewed them all and bugged them incessantly until I was sure I got everything right. Still, I wonder if choosing a fairy-tale format was the way to tell the stories."

Lorcan suffering from a writer's insecurities struck me as silly. Here was a man whose career spanned four millennia. I'm sure he'd had all the time he needed to perfect his craft.

"Read it to me," I asked.

He sat in the wingback, put the tome on his lap, and said, " 'Once there was a great warrior-magician whose name was Ruadan. To know a man, you must know his story, and all the stories of men begin with their mothers…' "

On the story went: Bres, an immortal king who wanted to win back Eire—even to the detriment of his sons. His wife, Brigid, an immortal queen who wanted nothing more than peace for her people and for her family to be safe. But Bres lost the war and Brigid lost her sons. All but one…

" 'Morrigu heard the keening of her daughter, so she turned into a crow and flew to the land of the Fomhoire. Though the dark queen craved chaos over tranquillity and war over peace, she felt pity for her daughter and offered one chance for Brigid to regain her son.

" 'Give Ruadan a cup of my blood, but be warned! When he awakes, he will not live as a man, but as a
deamhan fola
. He will never again walk in the light. He will not consume food or drink, but shall siphon the blood of the living. Neither will he have breath nor beat of heart. Never will he sire another child by his own seed.' "

In desperation, Brigid agreed to the terms of the spell—or curse, depending on your point of view. That night Morrigu turned her grandson into the first vampire. Ruadan awoke and returned to his family, but his wife went mad. Rather than be married to a monster and allow her sons to be raised by him, she planned to kill herself and their twin sons, Patrick and Lorcan.

Ruadan stopped her and convinced her to go to Eire with Brigid. For twenty-five years, he wandered the earth, making six more master vampires, before the need to see his sons overcame him.