Haven (17 page)

“You didn’t . . . kill them?”

He looked taken aback. “No, of course not. Is that what you thought—that a vampire’s bite meant certain death?”

“Well, yeah, I guess.” I shrugged. “Either that, or it turns them into a vampire.”

Apparently that amused him, because he laughed. “No, it takes much more than that to make a vampire. And there’s no reason for a vampire to kill his victim, unless he wants to. One can simply drink enough to slake the thirst. A little here, a little there.”

All I could do was nod, willing him to continue.

“Anyway, I spend four years at Winterhaven every decade or so. Blackwell makes sure the faculty forgets me between my stints there. Occasionally I change my name.”

“Because it . . . it wouldn’t be okay to have a vampire there?” I stuttered.

“No, it wouldn’t.” He shook his head. “Vampires must remain entirely secret from the rest of the world, even the psychic world. It’s part of our rules, our laws. So in between my time at Winterhaven, I travel, or stay in Manhattan. My work is ongoing, even now.”

“And have you managed to develop a cure?” I asked. “I mean, is it really possible?”

His entire face lit up with hope, his features animated. “It’s entirely possible, and I’ve come very close. Vampirism is nothing more than a sort of . . . parasitical infection, you might say. For now I can extend the period between feedings, subdue the cravings, lessen the symptoms. But it’s not quite enough, not yet. It’s only a temporary sort of cure, and not systemic.”

Wait—something he’d said earlier finally registered in my brain. “You said Dr. Blackwell was in London, back when you were . . . you know, made what you are.” God, I couldn’t even say it. “How can that be?”

His eyes met mine, steady and direct. “Think about it, Violet.”

“Oh my God!” The truth hit me. “He’s . . . he’s one too?”

“Yes. I hadn’t meant to tell you, though I suppose there’s no getting around it.”

“But . . . but I’ve seen you—both of you—out in the daylight. How can that be if, you know . . .” I trailed off miserably.

“The elixir. With it I can withstand the sun without any negative effects. Once it begins to wear off, I’m forced to utilize Winterhaven’s underground passageways during daylight hours. And I doubt you’ve seen Blackwell in the sunlight.”

Actually, now that I thought about it, I hadn’t.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I need the elixir. Which is why I was so . . . discomposed . . . when you found me in my lab, all my work destroyed, all the vials I’d stored there gone.”

“But you have some stored somewhere else, right?”

“Of course. I keep some here, and all my notes are backed up. Still, whoever destroyed the lab, their intention is clear. They want to stop me.”

“But who would do such a thing?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

He raked a hand through his hair. “One of my kind, I suppose. There are those who wish to see my work stopped, who fear that, were a cure developed, it would be used against them. These are the most dangerous of our kind, the ones who feed from innocents, who enjoy taking lives. What I can’t figure out
is how they gained access to Winterhaven without me sensing their presence.”

“So, what do you do now?”

“I go on with my work. I won’t be cowed into submission. Blackwell will find out who did this, and they will be punished.”

It all seemed so crazily rational, and yet it didn’t change the fact that Aidan was a vampire. Fear still niggled at my mind. “So, where do you, you know . . . drink?”

“I feed here in the city, for the most part, though occasionally I venture farther afield. I only hunt those who hunt humans—criminals, murderers, rapists. Evil for evil. I like to think I’m personally responsible for the city’s low violent-crime rate,” he said wryly, but his eyes wouldn’t meet mine. I said nothing, just waiting for him to continue.

“It’s where the mind reading comes in handy—I go out seeking people who are looking for trouble. I can see into their souls when I’m feeding from them, you know. If I sense some good in them and their mind is malleable, I plant a warning—a threat—and let them live. But those whose souls are entirely black, I kill.” His gaze finally met mine, as if he wanted to impress the point on me. “Let’s just be clear on that point, Violet—I
am
a killer, a monster.”

I took a deep breath, tapping my intuition, prodding it for
all it was worth. Was he a monster, or just a more complicated version of the guy I’d come to care about
way
too much?

I watched him closely, allowing my instincts to guide me as they always had. I could sense his indecision, his own struggle between self-loathing and acceptance. But try as I might, I couldn’t quite see the monster he wanted me to see. All I saw was . . . Aidan.

I let out my breath in a rush, relieved at the strength of my certainty. Even though I’d seen him in action tonight, seen things that scared me senseless, I knew that, at his core, Aidan was
good
. He was the same Aidan he’d always been, and my feelings for him remained intact.

Gathering my courage, I rose from the chaise and slowly made my way across the room, drawn to him. “You’re not a monster, Aidan.”

“You saw me that night in the lab,” he said, taking a step away from me. “I have no idea what I might have done had you not run from me. I haven’t been that out of control in . . . well, in a very long time. I was upset, and you were bleeding profusely. Still, I can’t excuse it—”

“Stop,” I said, reaching for his hand.
Cold.
It was cold as ice, and that same frisson of electricity passed between us, as always. “We
do
have some sort of connection, don’t we?”

“Probably one best ignored,” he said, brushing my burning
cheek with the back of his hand. I knew I should be frightened, but I wasn’t. I trusted him, maybe more than he trusted himself.

“Why?” I asked. “Why do you always draw me in and then push me away?”

His eyes widened slightly, as if he was surprised by the idea that he was doing that. Or maybe he was just surprised that I noticed. Either way, his grip tightened on my hand before he spoke, his words careful. “You’ve got to understand that whenever I’m with you, there’s this battle raging in my mind. The selfish part of me wants you, wants you to accept me, to care about me. But the other part . . .” I saw him shudder, and he took a deep, rattling breath before continuing on. “The logical part of me wants to protect you from me, because how can I ever be sure I won’t hurt you? Or that someone else won’t? The last woman I truly cared about was killed. Because of
me,
” he added, his voice catching. “I want to protect you, but I don’t want to treat you like some fragile flower, because you’re not. You’re smart, Violet, and strong. I know that. Still, I have to remember that you’re not like me. You’re mortal, and that makes you vulnerable to things that I . . . I don’t really want to consider.” He closed his eyes, as if trying to block out unpleasant images.

I rose up on tiptoe and kissed his eyelids—one, then the
other. They were slightly damp, salty. “You’ve got all that going on in your head,
every
time you’re with me?” I asked in amazement.

“Every time,” he answered, his eyes fluttering open to meet mine. The fear I saw there, the terror, nearly took my breath away.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, wanting more than anything to take that fear away, but knowing I was helpless to do so. “Wow, that’s taking teenage angst to a whole other level, isn’t it, Aidan?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. Because otherwise, I was going to cry.

“Your stepmother isn’t expecting you,” Aidan said. A statement, not a question. But he was right, she wasn’t. “Stay here tonight. With me.”

Any sane person would have said no, would have gotten the hell out of there as quickly as possible.

I said yes.

A
n hour later, I lay snuggled beneath a blanket, staring up at the night sky. Aidan had an entire garden up on his roof—potted trees, chaise longues covered with plush cushions. It was perfect. The night’s horrors were forgotten as I lay there drowsily, struggling to keep my eyes open as I traced the constellation Orion with one finger.

“I don’t want this night to end,” I murmured, turning my head toward where he stood a few feet away, leaning against the door, watching me.

“We should go in,” he said. “You’re exhausted, and it’s getting cold.”

“Not yet. Hey, do you sleep at night?”

“Most of the time,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “In a bed, in case you’re curious. Not a coffin or anything like that. I have no idea whose bright idea it was to propagate
that
particular myth.”

“And other times? When you don’t sleep?”

“I work on my research. Sometimes I feed.”

I shuddered at the word “feed.” It just sounded so . . . animalistic. Like he was some sort of beast, put out to pasture.

He must have noticed my reaction. “It’s what I am, Violet. To accept me, you must accept that I’m a predator. A killer. I want you going into this with your eyes wide open. It’s the only way I can justify it.”

“What about that first night you took me to the chapel? You had a cut on your head, and you wouldn’t tell me how you got it. Were you . . . you know?” I still couldn’t say it.

“Yes, I had gone to feed. Things didn’t go quite as planned.”

Huh. I didn’t dare ask what he meant by that. Instead, I sat forward on the chaise, taking in the view beyond the rooftops surrounding us. I could just make out the Metropolitan Museum of Art, off in the distance. “I still can’t believe I almost got jumped,” I said, shaking my head. “I mean, what are the chances of that? Statistically speaking, the city’s pretty safe.”

“Unless you go looking for it,” he replied.

My gaze snapped over to his. “You think I went looking for it?”

He nodded. “You needed to see it—to see what I am—to truly believe it. Your intuition just helped you along, told you where to find me.”

He was probably right, but I didn’t really want to think about it too much, to examine it further. Not right now, at least. Right now, I just wanted to enjoy being there with him, sharing his secrets—even if those secrets did include some woman named Isabel.

“Was she very beautiful?” I asked, unable to curb my curiosity.

“Who?”

“What do you mean, who?” I asked. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

For a while he said nothing. His face was in profile, turned toward the sky, and I could see pinpoints of light reflected in his eyes—stars, streetlights. I held my breath, waiting.

“I suppose she was,” he said at last.

Of course she was. I just nodded, wishing I hadn’t asked. What did it matter, anyway? She’d been dead for more than a century. Still, I was jealous. So jealous that I could taste it—a bitter, ugly taste in my mouth.

“Look, a falling star,” he said, pointing to the inky canvas above. “Quick, make a wish.”

So I did.
Please let Aidan find his cure.
I repeated it over and over silently in my mind. He had to figure it out. Otherwise, there was no hope for him, for us.

“It’s late, Violet,” he said, pushing off the door and moving to stand beside me. “You really should go to bed.”

“Are you”—I swallowed hard—“are you going to bed too?” No one had mentioned the sleeping arrangements.

He nodded, reaching for my hand. “Trevors has made up the rose room for you. I’ll just be next door.”

Inexplicably disappointed, I pushed aside the blanket and rose from the chaise.

“Does that frighten you?” he asked, his brows drawn. “Having me next door?”

“I’m not afraid, Aidan.” Well, maybe I was . . . a little. But not of him. No, I was more afraid of this unfamiliar, overwhelming desire I felt—this crazy rush of emotions, the way my skin flushed hotly when he looked at me. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and press my body tightly against his. I wanted to tempt him, to make him want me as badly as I wanted him, vampire or not. But apparently he was putting me in the “rose room,” so my virtue was safe. Unlike Isabel’s, all those years ago. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop picturing him in some opera dancer’s bed. What
was
an opera dancer, anyway?

Wordlessly I followed him back downstairs to the second floor and into a pretty, feminine room decorated with pale pink rosebuds and cream-colored lace. “Your bag’s right over there,” Aidan said, motioning toward my suddenly ratty-looking overnight bag. “And Trevors has filled a water pitcher for you there on the commode.”

Commode?
He was pointing to what looked like a night-stand to me.

“Thanks, Your Highness,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. He suddenly seemed so serious, so uncomfortable. “Or would it be Sir Aidan? What do they call viscounts in merry old England, anyway?”

His eyes met mine, the connection so strong that for a second there, I could barely breathe. “Lord Brompton, at your service,” he said with a mock bow. And then he looked away, that troubled expression back again. “You’ve your own bathroom, right over there.” He indicated a door behind me, half ajar. “And my room’s just through here,” he said, pointing to a door on the opposite side of the room. “If you should need me.”

I
did
need him, and not on the other side of the door. I wanted him there, next to me. It’s not like I wanted to . . . well, you know. I wasn’t even sure that he could, being what he was. But still, I wanted him close by. Touching me. Holding me.

Summoning all the courage I could muster, I spoke the words in my head that I was too embarrassed to say aloud.
Please stay with me tonight.

“Probably not such a good idea, Vi,” he said aloud, his voice a hoarse whisper.

I tried to hide my disappointment, but it was no use. My cheeks were burning, and I couldn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s . . . I have my reasons. Trust me.”

I shook my head, annoyed. I mean, he’d already told me the worst of it. Why keep things from me now?

“It’s just . . . my God, Violet, I’ve been alive, what? A hundred and thirty years now? Trapped forever inside this boy’s body, with a boy’s raging hormones and a vampire’s desires. I can’t . . .”