Lover Unleashed (57 page)

“It is regeneration—”

“But where’s it going to stop? Am I going to Benjamin Button it and de-age all the way back to an infant?”

“That would be impossible,” she countered. “I have been exposed to the light more than you have and I am not reverting to a youth state.”

“Okay, fine, so let’s assume that doesn’t happen—what about everyone else in my life?” Not that that was a long list, but still. “My mother’s going to see me like this and think I’ve had plastic surgery—but what about in ten years? She’s only seventy—trust me, by the time she’s eighty or ninety, it is going to dawn on her that her son’s not aging. Or do I have to give her up?”

Manny got to walking again, and as he pulled on his hair, he could have sworn it was thicker. “I lost my job today—because of what happened after my memories were scrubbed. During that week I was away from you, my head was so fucked-up, I didn’t know whether it was night or day, and that’s all they have to go on, because it’s not like I can explain to them what really happened.” He turned back to her. “My issue is, this is the only body I have, the only mind, the only . . . anything. You vampires messed with my brain and I almost lost it— what are the consequences of this? All I know is the cause. . . . The magnitude of the effect? Not a clue, and that terrifies me for a good goddamn reason.”

Payne brought the tail of her thick braid over her shoulder and smoothed it while she dropped her eyes. “I am . . . sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Payne,” he groaned as he threw up his hands. “And I don’t want to put all this on you, but I—”

“It
is
my fault. I am the cause.”

“Payne . . .”

As he started for her, she put her palms up and backed away. “No, do not come near me.”

“Payne—”

“You are right.” She stopped when she bumped into the glass door she’d come in through. “I am dangerous and destructive.”

Manny rubbed his cross through his shirt. In spite of everything he’d said, at that moment, he wanted to take it all back and somehow find a way to make things right between them.

“It is a gift, Payne.” After all, she and the horse had demonstrated the benefits of short-term exposure. “It’s going to help you and your family and your people. Hell, with what you can do, you’ll put Jane out of business.”

“Indeed.”

“Payne . . . look at me.” When her eyes eventually lifted to his, he wanted to weep. “I . . .”

Except he let that sentence drift. The truth was, he loved her. Completely and forever. But that was the curse of all this for them both, he suspected.

He was never going to get over her, and there would never be anyone else for him.

Squaring his shoulders, he braced himself. “I have one thing to ask.”

“What would that be,” she said roughly.

“Don’t scrub me. I won’t tell anyone about you or your kind—I swear on my mother. Just . . . leave me as is when you go. Without my mind, I’ve got less than the nothing.”

Payne had been flying high when she’d left the compound. Her brother had shared the incredible news as soon as she had returned just before dawn, and she’d spent the entire day vacillating between floating on a cloud and being really impatient with how slowly time was moving.

Then she had come here.

It was hard to imagine that her heart had been so full of joy just ten minutes ago.

It was not, however, hard to understand Manuel’s position. And she was surprised that neither of them had anticipated the larger implications of her . . . healing power. Or whatever it was.

Of course it would affect him.

Looking at Manuel, she found the tension in him unbearable: He was honestly and truly anxious about what he would be left with if she took the memories of their time together away from his conscious reach. And why wouldn’t he be? He had lost his beloved job because of her. His body and his mind were in danger because of her.

Fates, she should never have gotten near him.

And this was precisely why intermixing with humans was frowned upon.

“Worry not,” she said softly. “I shall not compromise you mentally. I have done more than enough.”

As he exhaled his relief, she felt tears clog her throat.

He stared at her for a beat. “Thank you.”

She bowed a little, and when she righted herself, she was shocked to see a shimmering in his beautiful mahogany eyes.

“I want to remember you, Payne. . . all of you. All of it.” That sad, yearning stare of his searched her face. “The way you tasted and felt. The sound of you laughing . . . gasping. The time I had next to you—” His voice cracked, and he recovered by clearing his throat. “I need those memories to last me a lifetime.”

Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks as her heart stopped working properly.

“I’m going to miss you,
bambina
. Every day. Always.”

When he held out his arms, she went into them and lost her composure completely. Sobbing into his shirt, she was enveloped by his strong, solid body, and she held him as tightly as he did her.

And then they both broke the embrace at the same time, as if they were of one heart. And she supposed they were.

Indeed, there was a part of her that wanted to fight and argue and try to make him see another side, another way. But she was not sure there was one to be had. She could no more predict the future than he could, and she knew no more about the repercussions of what had changed within him than he did.

There was nothing left to be said. This end that had arrived unexpectedly was an impact that could not be cushioned by talk or touch or even, she suspected, time.

“I shall go now,” she said, backing away.

“Let me get the door for you—”

As she dematerialized out of his home, she realized those were the last words he would speak to her.

That was their good-bye.

Manny stared at the space his woman had just inhabited. There was nothing of her there anymore; she’d disappeared into thin air sure as a shaft of light that had been cut off.

Gone.

His immediate impulse was to go into the front hall closet, get out his baseball bat, and wreck the place. Just break all the mirrors and glass and dishes and shit—then get to work throwing what little furniture he had over the lip of the terrace. After that . . . maybe he’d take his Porsche out onto the Northway, get ’er up to a hundred, and pilot a course that terminated in the underpinnings of a bridge.

No seat belt in this scenario, obviously.

In the end, though, he just sat on the bed next to the gym bags and put his head in his hands. He wasn’t a pussy to sob like he was at a funeral. Not at all. He just dripped onto his running shoes.

Manly. Really fucking manly.

But how he appeared to the peanut gallery of his empty condo was as unimportant as his pride, his ego, his cock and balls . . . all of it.

God . . . this wasn’t just sad.

The loss ruined him.

And he was going to carry this pain around with him for the rest of his natural life.

How ironic. Her name had seemed so strange to him at first. Now, it was so very apt.

FIFTY

P
ayne did not go back to the mansion; she had no interest in seeing anyone who lived there. Not the king, who had given her a freedom that it turned out she did not need. Not her twin, who had advocated on her behalf. And certainly not all the happy, fortunate, blessed couples who lived beneath that regal roof.

So instead of heading north, she re-formed herself on the shores of the waterway that ran beside the tall, glassy buildings of downtown. The breeze was gentler at ground level and carried upon it the chattering sound of the waves licking at the river’s rocky flanks. In the background, the hum from the vehicles surmounting the bridges’ gently curving backs and fading down on their far sides made her feel most keenly the depth and breadth of the landscape.

Surrounded by humans, she was totally alone.

This was what she had asked for, however. This was the freedom she had so dearly wanted and sought with greed.

In the Sanctuary, nothing had changed. But naught had gone wrong, either.

Still, though, she would e’er choose this raw hardship over her former numb insulation.

Oh, Manuel . . .

“Hey, baby.”

Payne looked over her shoulder. A human male was approaching her, having evidently stepped out from behind one of the supports of the bridge. He was weaving, and he smelled like layers upon layers of fermented sweat and dirt.

Without sparing him a greeting, Payne dematerialized farther down the riverbank. There was no reason to scrub him. He was unlikely to remember he’d ever seen her. And no doubt used to drugaddled hallucinations.

Staring at the curling surface of the river, she was not beckoned toward the dark depths. She was not going to hurt herself over this. This was no prison to get trapped in . . . and besides, she was finished with taking a cowardly route out. Bracing her feet upon the earth, she crossed her arms and just existed in the place she stood, time seeping through reality’s sieve unheeded as the stars pinwheeled overhead, changing position. . . .

At first, the scent entered her nose surreptitiously, weaving in and amidst the mix of fresh dirt and wet stone and urban pollution. So initially, she didn’t notice the odor as anything distinctive.

Her brain stem soon came alive in recognition, however.

With a tingle of instinct, her head turned of its own volition, cranking around on the top of her spine. Her shoulders followed . . . then her hips.

That rancid odor was the enemy.

A
lesser
.

As she fell into a light jog, she felt in her blood an aggression that was not solely tied to her heartache and frustration at what fate had wrought upon her. Closing in on the scent, she was animated by a deep heritage of violence and protection, her limbs and her dagger hand and her fangs prickling. Transformed by deadly purpose, she was neither male nor female, neither Chosen nor sister nor daughter. As she dodged and surmounted the alleys and streets, she was a soldier.

Into an alley she turned, and at the base of it, she found the pair of slayers whose scent had called her forth from the river. Standing together, clustered around what she identified as a phone, they were new recruits, with dark hair and twitchy bodies.

They did not look up as she stopped. Which gave her time to pick up a silver metal disk with FORD marked on it. ’Twas a fine weapon—one she could block with or use to throw.

A moment later, the wind blew up and frothed her robe, pulling it out from her body, and the movement must have caught their eyes, because they turned.

Knives came out. And so did a pair of smiles that made her blood boil.

Silly boys, she thought. Thinking that as a female, she would present no contest.

The saunters with which they approached her were nothing she saw fit to disrupt. In fact, she was going to enjoy the surprise that they would receive—and ultimately not survive.

“What you doing out here, girlie?” the bigger of the two asked. “All alone.”

I’m about to cut your throat open with what I have behind my back. After which I shall break both of your legs, not because I have to, but because I shall enjoy the sound. And then I will locate something steel with which to pierce your empty chest cavity and send you back to your maker. Or mayhap I’ll leave you to writhe on the ground.

Payne stayed silent. Instead of talking, she distributed her weight equally between her braced feet and sank down onto her thighs. Neither of the
lessers
seemed to notice the change in position; they were too busy coming up to her and showing off like peacocks. And neither did they split and flank her. Or have one engage her face-to-face so the other could come from behind.

They stayed right in front . . . where she could reach them.

Alas, this was going to be but a good warm-up. Although perhaps some others who knew something about proper fighting would show up to amuse her . . .

Xcor could feel the stirring change in his bastards.

As they walked in formation through the streets of downtown Caldwell, the energy behind him was a drumming beat of aggression. Sharp. Refreshed. Stronger than it had been for a decade.

Indeed, moving here had been the best decision he’d ever made. And not just because he and Throe had had some good sex and a drink the night before. His males were as daggers pulled quick from the forge, their killing instincts renewed and glinting in the artificial moonlight of the city. No wonder there had been no slayers in the Old Country. They were all here, the Lessening Society having focused all its efforts—

Xcor’s head shifted around and he slowed.

The scent on the air made his fangs elongate and his body thump with power.

His change of direction was nothing to announce. His bastards were right with him, tracking as he did the sickly sweet sting that was upon the wings of the night gusts.

As they rounded the corner and surfed down a straightaway, he prayed for many. A dozen. A hundred. Two hundred. He wanted to be covered with the blood of the enemy, bathing in the black oil that animated their flesh—

At the mouth of an alley, his feet didn’t so much stop as become cemented unto the ground.

Betwixt one blink and the next, the past rushed forward, surmounting the distance of interceding months and years and centuries to come to fruition in the present.

Centered in the alleyway, a female in a billowing white robe was fighting a pair of
lessers
. She held them off with kicks and punches, pivoting and jumping around so fast that she had to wait for them to come back at her.

With her superior fighting skills, she was but toying with them. And there was a very clear impression that they didn’t recognize all she was holding back.

Lethal. She was lethal and just waiting to strike.

And Xcor knew exactly who she was.

“She is—” Xcor’s throat cut off the rest of the words.