Secret Worlds (211 page)

“What do you want?” The harsh tones nearly made Amaia wince.

“I am friends with a friend of your master’s, and I’ve come to call on him.”

“You are acquainted with Lord Whittaker?”

“Indirectly, yes. If you would tell him that a friend of Jocelyn’s is visiting, I’d be much obliged.” Nerves fluttered in her stomach. In a moment, she would see him. Would he be as excited as she was?

The woman put her hands on her hips and stared down at Amaia, not the least bit cooperative.

“I know it sounds rather strange, but I promise I’ll cause no trouble. If you could just let him know I’m here, I’d be very grateful. If he says he doesn’t want to see me, I’ll leave. I promised I’d stop by on my way through. I wouldn’t want him to be upset when he’s discovered he’s missed me.”

“Hmph. Stay here.” The door shut resolutely, and Amaia stood outside, awaiting her fate.

Time was supposed to move faster for her, but the minutes dragged by. Amaia half wondered if the woman would even deliver her message. Perhaps Michael didn’t want to see her, and the servant didn’t think it was worth relaying that information. Amaia had always known the day might come when he didn’t want her. She had even hoped for it. All she wanted was his happiness. A little demon inside her whispered that she lied to herself. Maybe she did.

Just when she thought she would go mad with waiting, the door reopened to reveal a footman.

“Come this way. The master will see you.”

Amaia followed the man through the house to a study on the main floor. When she entered, Michael’s back was to her as he stared out a window. His appearance this time surprised her. He was average height and broad without the lean muscle from his last life, with a healthy head of thick, light brown hair. Hair she longed to feel with her hands.

“Your guest, Lord Whittaker.” The footman made his announcement and then withdrew. Michael didn’t move until the door had shut behind the servant, and when he did, Amaia wished he hadn’t.

Gray eyes, icier than the frosty lochs of Scotland, stared at her. And just like the lochs of Scotland, under the icy exterior, the water churned. It was a blessing Amaia didn’t require breath—her lungs were so chilled she didn’t think she’d be able to move them.

“I remember what happened now, Amaia.” His tone held no warmth.

“What do you mean?”

Heat flashed in his eyes. In an instant, the fire replaced the ice, and Amaia realized that the frost had been an attempt to control his temper. “Stop the lies. You’re not my Jocelyn. You are a demon. You killed my sweet lady, and then you killed me.”

Oh, that memory. She had been a fool to think he would never recall the circumstances of his death. “I’m not a demon.” The truth was the only argument she had, and she knew it was weak.

“You sucked the blood from my body.” An accusatory finger jabbed in her direction.

“Yes, I did, but you don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t understand how you can stand there looking and sounding like my dear Jocelyn and yet betray me so heartily.”

“I didn’t mean to. I am the same woman. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t, not without revealing what I am, and that knowledge is too dangerous for you to possess.”

“What are you then, if not a demon?”

“I can’t tell you. I won’t endanger you that way. I’m not sure I’m any better than a demon, but I assure you, that’s not what I am.”

“Tell me!”

There was no chance for her if he continued to believe she was a demon, not when he was always so religious. She wasn’t sure the truth was any better, but at least it was the truth. “I’m a vampire. Lawrence turned me.”

“What?”

“It’s the truth.”

“It’s ludicrous.” Michael’s tone betrayed his words. Anger, not disbelief, tinged his voice.

“You know it’s true.” Amaia took a tentative step toward him.

“A vampire? Standing here in my home in the middle of the day? How is that any better? You are not the woman I loved.” Michael paused. When he spoke again, his voice held a deathly chill. “Get out. I don’t want to ever see you again.”

“Michael, please.” Another step, less tentative than the first, desperation making her bold.

“I said get out.”

What could she do? He needed time. “Fine. I’ll leave. But please, Michael, give me some hope. Don’t throw me away.”

“How can I throw you away? You were never mine.”

His words sliced through her. “Michael, please. You know that’s not true. I understand you’re angry. You have every right to be, but we can resolve this.”

Michael snorted. “Really? You think I could ever love you? You are not the woman I pledged myself to. You took her from me.”

“I swear, Michael, I’m the same woman. Your anger blinds you. If you look at it rationally, you’ll see that I’m just the same.”

“Don’t make me escort you from the premises.”

Amaia saw his hands shaking and knew the reason he had kept his distance was to refrain from striking her. “All right. I’ll leave, and I won’t bother you again unless you want me.”

“I will never want you.”

“Still, Michael, you used to leave a candle out for me back when I was mortal. Remember? If you change your mind, leave two lit candles in your window, and I’ll come. I’ll be watching for you, always.” She stood for a moment, hoping for something, although she couldn’t have said what. Silence crackled between them. There was nothing more she could do. With a last look at his new form, she turned and left.

***

The air toyed with Amaia’s hair as she ran, whipping it behind her and tossing it on the breeze. If she ran fast enough and long enough, maybe she would outrun the nerves in her stomach. Three days. It had been three days since Michael had flung her out of his life. It might as well have been three lifetimes.

Running provided her only release. Every instinct told her to kill. She wanted to. She wanted nothing more than to rip a man’s throat out. She craved the mess, the gushing blood—the proof of her lack of humanity. The proof of her vampirism. Michael had forsaken her because of it. She might as well relish it.

Except, the desire that urged her to do it was the same one that held her back. He had turned from her. He hated and despised her. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to do that which she knew Michael despised. Not now. Not after he had learned the truth and it had pulled him from her.

“What are you doing?”
Amaia felt a flash of irritation at Lawrence’s intrusion into her mind.

“Running.”

“Why?”

How could she answer that? There was no answer.

“Why?”

Or at least, there was no answer she could ever give Lawrence.

“I asked you a question, Amaia.”

His tone brooked no argument. Ignoring him would only cause problems.
“Because I want to.”

“You have obligations. You’re booked tonight.”

“Cancel it.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason? It’s not as if we need the money.”

“Yes, you need a reason to disobey me.”

Maybe she should go. A rough fuck might be just the thing to clear her mind.

The knot in her stomach tightened.

No, sex wouldn’t help. It would only remind her of him, of the one man she wanted and couldn’t have. The thought of someone else’s hands on her sent her skin crawling.

“I can’t do it. Not tonight. Please, Lawrence. It would only end in disaster.”

“Are you saying you can’t control yourself?”

She hesitated. Control was everything. If she didn’t have that, it would be admitting the ultimate weakness to Lawrence. That was the surest way to rouse his suspicions to an unmanageable level.

“No, of course not. I’m saying I’ve been doing this for over a century and a half now. I deserve a break.”

“Fine. You may take the night off. But I expect you to be ready for your engagement tomorrow night.”

She wouldn’t be ready. There was no possible way for her to be ready to relinquish her obsession. All she could do was fake it.

“Thank you.”

There wasn’t time to think about how she would deal with tomorrow. She was almost to her destination. Her legs slowed, and when she found the familiar tree, she climbed it as nimbly as if she were a cat. At the top, she was just in time to see the last traces of sun disappear below the horizon. As soon as it was out of view, she turned her gaze to the east.

Michael’s window was empty, as it had been the last three nights. A voice in her head insisted that it would remain that way. Nevertheless, calm enfolded her as she watched his window. In a strange twist, her stomach relaxed, and she was at peace. It didn’t matter whether he signaled for her or not: she was where she was meant to be, and there was comfort in that.

Her eyes were locked on his window. As the moon rose higher, Michael entered, bringing with him a light. Watching, she ceased the ruse of breathing. Her heart paused its beating. The stillness of the dead overcame her. Just like the previous nights, he gazed out of the window for a few minutes and then retreated. His light burned for a couple of hours, and then was extinguished. It would be easy to let her hope be extinguished with it. He had made his feelings clear. Just the same, Amaia knew she would be in the same spot the next night, still as death, waiting for the light that would give her life.

Palermo, December 1794, 24 years later

A bird landed on her shoulder, pecked at her neck, and then flew away. Amaia didn’t stir. She was almost a part of the landscape now. Every night found her in the same tree, as motionless as the bark beneath her. Michael’s life had ended without him giving the signal. Still, she had gone every night as soon as she was done with her work. Now she stalked Michelle’s abode.

Amaia’s most recent home had been Paris. Once again, she had haunted the great Notre Dame with Meg and Liam. Even with the turmoil in the city, she still loved it. With Meg’s support, Amaia strove for contentment. Michael had spurned her. Somehow, the fact that he’d made the decision with the truth in hand consoled her. It was what she had wanted, after all, to move on. She pretended to be happy, so well that she sometimes even convinced herself.

Amaia watched the city she most thought of as home succumb to mobs and riots. She had wanted to stay regardless, but the guillotine made the decision for her. Zenas ruled that a systematic method for beheading aristocrats made France too dangerous for vampires. All of his clan was commanded out until some order was restored. He had wanted Amaia in Poland to quash the rebellion against Russian rule. He liked Empress Catherine and wasn’t happy with the revolt, but Amaia was too familiar in Catherine’s court to be of use. With no need for her anywhere, Lawrence allowed her to pick their next destination. And that was how she ended up in Palermo, the same city Michael—who had returned as Michelle—inhabited.

Amaia watched through the window as Michelle repaired a shirt collar. She worked with her mother as a seamstress in her home outside the city. Often, she worked until there was not enough light and then resumed once the sun appeared. Michelle set her sewing aside and came to the window. Amaia’s hand tightened around the branch as she leaned forward. This wasn’t a new development. Michelle often gazed out of the window before retiring. Seeing her served only to make Amaia want her more. Her delicate features were framed by raven hair that brought out the paleness of her eyes. Her plain brown dress couldn’t hide her beauty. No matter how long she stood at the window, it wouldn’t be long enough. And when she retreated, leaving the window bare, Amaia would feel empty.

Michelle turned away. Tonight’s window gazing had been shorter than usual. Still, Amaia would sit and wait until the rays of the sun signaled the end of her vigil.

She saw movement at the window.

Two lit candles moved to the sill.

Amaia flew.

She leapt to the ground and easily scaled the house. When she tapped on the window, Michelle jumped from where she sat with her back toward Amaia. Her head snapped around, and her eyes widened.

She opened the window and held out a hand to help Amaia inside. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

Amaia accepted the hand. She tried to calm the swell of hope in her breast at the feel of Michelle’s skin against hers. “I told you I’d be watching.”

“Yes, I suppose this will take some getting used to.” Michelle sat in her bare wooden rocking chair and gestured for Amaia to take a seat in the chair opposite her.

Amaia sat, but she couldn’t relax. “You wanted to see me?”

Michelle took a deep breath. “Yes. I wanted to tell you that I forgive you.” They locked eyes, and Amaia’s limbs relaxed slightly. This was what she had craved. Michelle broke the stare first. “I couldn’t in my last life. I felt too betrayed, deceived. Time has given me some perspective. I’ve been able to think it over, and I know now that this was all Lawrence’s doing. I never trusted him, not from the beginning. Any man who would exploit you the way he did couldn’t be trusted.”

“What made you change your mind? Whether Lawrence did this or not, the fact still remains that I’m a vampire.”

“I realized that I was blaming the victim.”

Amaia couldn’t help the puzzled twitch of her face. “Michelle, I’m not a victim.”

“Michelle?”

Amaia didn’t know her birth name. “I’m sorry. I call you Michelle in my head when you’re a woman.”

Michelle smirked and nodded. “That makes sense. I like it.”

“I’m glad. But Michelle, I’m not a victim.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not. I chose this.” Amaia didn’t know why she contradicted her. Michelle had forgiven her, had accepted her. Why ruin it? Because, if Michelle didn’t want the real her, then it was all just a façade. At this point, Michelle either needed to accept her for who she was, or there was no future for them. It would be easier to face the truth now than draw it out in degrees.

“How could you choose it?”

“Lawrence asked me if I wanted to join him. I did. I was scared.”

“Of what?”