Dark Angel; The Chosen; Soulmate (52 page)

Thierry himself figured out how to solve the first problem. He dug himself a grave. It was the only place where he could count on being safe and undisturbed.

Hellewise gave him an infusion of roots and bark and Thierry went to sleep.

He slept a long time.

He slept straight through the epic battle when Hellewise drove Maya and her son Red Fern out of the tribe and away from the witches. He slept through the origins of the Night World and thousands of years of human change. When he finally woke up, the world was a different place, with civilizations and cities. And he knew that somewhere Hana had been born in one of them.

He began to look.

He was a wanderer, a lost soul with no home and no people. But not a killer. He learned to take blood without killing, to find willing donors instead of hunting terrified prey.

He looked in every village he passed, learning about the new world surrounding him, surviving on very little, searching every face he saw. Lots of communities would have been glad to adopt him, this tall young man with dusty clothes and farseeing eyes. But he only stayed long enough to make sure that Hana wasn't there.

When he did find her it was in Egypt, the Kingdom of the
Two Lands. She was sixteen. Her name was Ha-nahkt.

And Thierry would have recognized her anywhere, because she was still tall, still fair-haired and gray-eyed and beautiful.

Except for one thing.

Across her left cheek, where his fingers had smeared her own blood the night that he had killed her, was a red mark like a bruise. Like a stain on her perfect skin.

It was a sort of psychic brand, a physical reminder of what had happened in her last life. A permanent wound. And it was his fault.

Thierry was overcome with grief and shame. He saw that the other girl, Ket, the friend who had been with Hana in the last life, was with her again now. She had friends. Maybe it was best to leave her alone in this life, not even try to speak to her.

But he had forgotten about Maya.

Vampires don't die.

Life is strange sometimes. It was just as Thierry was thinking this that a figure walked into the lobby. Still half in his daydream of the past, he was expecting it to be Circe, so for a moment he was simply confused. Then his heart rate picked up and every muscle in his body tensed violently.

It was Maya.

He hadn't seen her for over a hundred years. The last time had been in Quebec, when Hannah had been named Annette.

And Maya had just killed her.

Thierry stood up.

She was as beautiful as ever. But to Thierry it was like the rainbow on oil scum. He hated her more than he had ever imagined he could hate anyone.

“So you found me,” he said quietly. “I knew you'd show up eventually.”

Maya smiled brilliantly. “I found
her
first.”

Thierry went still.

“That amulet was a very good one. I had to wait around to catch her alone so she could invite me inside.”

Thierry's heart lurched. He felt a physical wrench, as if something in him were actually trying to get out, trying desperately to get to Hannah—now.

How could he have been so stupid? She was too innocent; of course she would invite someone into her house. And she thought of Maya as a friend.

The ring should have offered at least a measure of protection from mind control—but only if Hannah had kept it on. Thierry realized now that she probably hadn't.

His voice a bare whisper, he said, “What did you do to her?”

“Oh, not much. Mostly it was just conversation. I mentioned that you were likely to get rough with her if things didn't go your way.” Maya tilted her head, eyes on his face, looking for a reaction.

Thierry didn't give it to her. He just stood, watching her silently.

She hadn't changed in thousands of years. She
never
changed, never grew, never got tired. And she never gave up. He didn't think she was capable of it.

Sometimes he thought he should just tie himself to her at the waist and find a bottomless pit to jump into. Rid the world of its two oldest vampires and all the problems Maya caused.

But there was his promise to Hannah.

“It doesn't matter what you say to her,” he said stonily. “You don't understand, Maya. This time is different. She remembers and—”

“And she hates you. I know. Poor baby.” Maya made a mock-sympathetic face. Her eyes sparkled peacock blue.

Thierry gritted his teeth. “And I've come to a decision,” he went on evenly. “The cycle has to be broken. And there
is
a way to do it.”

“I know,” Maya said before he could finish. “You can give her up. Give in to me—”

“Yes.” This time he cut her off. And the look of astonishment that flared in her eyes was worth it. “At least, yes to the first part,” he finished. “I'm giving her up.”

“You're not. You can't.”

“She's happy in this life. And she—doesn't want me.” There. It had been hard to say, but he'd gotten it out. “She remembers everything—I don't know why, but she does. Maybe because
she's so close to her original form. Maybe somehow the memories are closer to the surface. Or maybe it's the hypnosis. But in any case, she doesn't want me anymore.”

Maya was watching him, fascinated, her eyes the violet of deep twilight, her lips parted. Suddenly, she looked beyond him and smiled secretly. “She remembers everything? You really think so?”

Thierry nodded. “All I've ever brought her is misery and pain. I guess she realizes that.” He took a breath, then caught Maya's eyes again. “So I'm ending the cycle… now.”

“You're going to walk away.”

“And so are you. She's no threat to you anymore. If you want something from me, the only person to deal with is me. You can try any time you like in Vegas.” He gazed at her levelly.

Maya threw back her head and let out ripples of musical laughter.

“Oh, why didn't you tell me before? You could have saved me some trouble… but on the other hand, her blood was very sweet. I wouldn't have missed—”

She broke off, then, because Thierry slammed her against the oak-paneled wall of the lobby.

In one instant, his control had disappeared. He was so angry that he couldn't speak out loud.

What did you do to her? What did you do?
He shouted the words telepathically as his hands closed around Maya's throat.

Maya just smiled at him. She was the oldest vampire, and the most powerful. In every vampire who came after her, her blood had been diluted, half as strong, a quarter as strong, an eighth. But she was the original and the purest. She wasn't afraid of anyone.

Me?
I
didn't do anything,
she said, answering him the same way.
I'm afraid
you
were the one who attacked her. She seemed very unhappy about it; she even stabbed you with a pencil.
Maya lifted a hand and Thierry saw a neat dark hole puncturing it, faintly ringed with blood.

The power of illusion, he thought. Maya could appear as anyone and anything she wanted. She had talents that usually only belonged to werewolves and shapeshifters. And of course she was a witch.

She really has extraordinary spirit,
Maya went on.
But she's all right—you didn't exchange as much blood as you'd planned. The pencil, you see.

People were gathering behind Thierry, murmuring anxiously. They were about to interfere and ask him to please let go of the girl he was strangling.

He ignored them.

Listen to me,
he told Maya, staring into her mocking golden eyes.
Listen, because I'm never going to say this again. If you touch Hannah again—ever—in any life—I will kill you.

“I'll kill you,” he whispered out loud, to emphasize it. “Believe me, Maya, I'll do it.”

Then he let her go. He had to get to Hannah. Even a small exchange of blood with a vampire could be dangerous, and Maya's blood was the most potent on earth. Worse, he'd already taken some of Hannah's blood last night. She could be critically weak now… or starting to change.

He wouldn't think about that.

You won't, you know.
Maya's telepathic voice followed him as he made for the door.
You won't kill me. Not Thierry the compassionate, Thierry the good vampire, Thierry the saint of Circle Daybreak. You're not capable of it. You
can't
kill.

Thierry stopped on the threshold and turned around. He stared directly into Maya's eyes.

“Try me.”

Then he was outside, moving quickly through the night. Even so, Maya got the last word.

And, of course, there's your promise….

Hannah stirred.

She vaguely felt that something was wrong, something needed doing. Then she remembered. The car! She had to stay awake, had to keep the car on the road….

Her eyes flew open.

She was already off the road. The Ford had gone roving over the open prairie, where there was almost nothing to hit except sagebrush and tumbleweeds. It had ended up with its front bumper against a prickly pear, bending the cactus at an impossible angle.

The night was very quiet. She looked around and found that she could see the light of Chess's house, behind her and to the left.

The engine was off. Hannah turned the key in the ignition, but only got a grinding sound.

Now what? Should I get out and walk?

She tried to concentrate on her body, to figure out how she felt. She ought to feel terrible—after all, she'd lost blood and swallowed who knew what kind of poison from Thierry's veins.

But instead she only felt strangely dizzy, slightly dreamy.

I can walk. I'm fine.

Holding on to her length of dowel, she got out of the car and started toward the light. She could hardly feel the rough ground and the bluestem grass under her feet.

She had gone about a hundred yards toward the light when she heard a wolf howl.

It was such a distinctive sound—and so incongruous. Hannah stopped in her tracks. For a wild moment she wondered if coyotes howled.

But that was ridiculous. It was a wolf, just like the wolves that had attacked her at Paul's. And she didn't have anything made of silver.

Just keep walking, she thought. She didn't need the cool wind voice to tell her that.

Even in her light-headed state, she was frightened. She'd seen the savagery of teeth and claws close up. And the part of her that was Hana of the Three Rivers had a gut-deep fear of wild animals that the civilized Hannah Snow could never begin to approach.

She gripped her stick in a clammy palm and kept walking grimly.

The howl sounded again, so close that Hannah jumped inside her skin. Her eyes darted, trying to pick objects out in the darkness. She felt as if she could see better than usual at night—could the vampire blood have done that? But even with her new vision, she couldn't spot anything moving. The world around her was deserted and eerily quiet.

And the stars were very far away. They blazed in the sky with a cold blue light as if to show how distant they were from human affairs.

I could die here and they'd go right on shining, Hannah thought. She felt very small and very unimportant—and very alone.

And then she heard a breath drawn behind her.

Funny. The wolf howls had been so loud, and this was so soft… and yet it was much more terrifying. It was close—intimate. A
personal
sound that told her she definitely wasn't alone.

Hannah whirled with her stick held ready. Her skin was crawling and she could feel a wash of acid from her stomach, but she meant to fight for her life. She was at one with the cool wind voice; her heart was dark and cold and steely.

A tall figure was standing there. Starlight reflected off pale blond hair.

Thierry.

Hannah leveled her stick.

“What's the matter? Come back for more?” she said, and
she was pleased to find her voice steady. Husky, but steady. She waved her stick at him to show what kind of “more” she meant.

“Are you all right?” Thierry said.

He looked—different from the last time she'd seen him. His expression was different. His dark eyes seemed pensive again, the sort of expression a star might have if it cared about anything that was going on underneath it. Infinitely remote, but infinitely sad, too.

“Why should you care?” A wave of dizziness went through her. She fought it off—and saw that he was stepping toward her, hand reaching out. She whipped the stick up to the exact level of his hand, an inch from his palm. She was impressed with herself for how fast she did it. Her body was moving the way it had with the werewolves, instinctively and smoothly.

I suppose I had a life as a warrior, she mused. I think that's where the cool wind voice comes from, just the way the crystal voice comes from Hana of the Three Rivers.

“I do care,” Thierry said. His voice said he didn't expect her to believe it.

Hannah laughed. The combination of her dizziness and her body instinct was having an odd effect. She felt brashly, stupidly overconfident. Maybe this is what drunk feels like, she thought, her mind wandering again.

“Hannah—”

Hannah made the stick whistle in the air, stopping him from coming any closer to her. “Are you
crazy
?” she said. There
were tears in her eyes. “Do you think that you can just attack me and then come back and say ‘I'm sorry' and it's all going to be okay? Well, it isn't. If there was ever anything between us, it's all over now. There is no second chance.”

She could see his face tense. A muscle twitched in his tight jaw. But the strangest thing was that she could have sworn he had tears in his eyes, too.

It infuriated her. How dare he pretend to be hurt by her, after what he'd done?

“I hate you.”
She spat the words with a force that startled even her. “I don't need you. I don't want you. And I'm telling you for the third time,
keep the hell away from me.
”