The Last True Vampire (18 page)

“You’re not the only one with connections,” Ronan replied. “Or influence.”

Smug.
Michael had time enough to grill Ronan on just how and from whom he got the book, but the appearance of the relic was currently the least of his worries. “What does the book have to do with Claire?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” As he continued to flip through the pages, Ronan cast a sidelong glance Michael’s way. “I haven’t found exactly what I’m looking for yet, but if my assumptions are correct, I think I’ve saved you a lifetime’s worth of worry, my friend.”

Michael quirked a brow. “How so?”

“I think that Claire is a Vessel.”

He let out a disbelieving bark of laughter. “And here I thought you’d come to me with something that wasn’t founded on myth and legend.” Michael paced the room, his brain buzzing with need. Until Claire, he’d kept his thirst at bay for months at a time without even a hint of mindless bloodlust. But now taking her vein had become his obsession, the thirst mounting to the point that only an act of violence would keep him from her.
Claire, a Vessel.
Michael let out a derisive snort. She might as well be a unicorn.

“Why is it so hard to believe?” Ronan kept his nose buried in the pages, his attention focused on the ancient text.

“Because there is no such thing.” The hope that had dared to soar in Michael’s chest fell from the sky with broken wings. “It is a romantic story passed down through the ages. Something to give foolish lovers hope.” He thought back to the memory of the vampire who’d killed his human lover. Surely he’d been convinced the woman was a Vessel as well.

“No. You’re wrong.”

Gods, Ronan infuriated Michael with the way he refused to raise his eyes from the yellowed vellum pages. His fingertip skimmed the lines as he read, his lips moving without sound. “And how is it, Ronan, that you have seemed to have found something that no vampire has ever encountered?”

“I didn’t find her, Mikhail. You did.”

Michael let out a long sigh. “If you’re trying to anger me, it’s working.”

Ronan ignored Michael’s tightly spoken words. “I haven’t had long to read. An hour or so. It’ll take days for me to get through it all. But from what I can tell, a Vessel carries a certain … spark. A strength of mind and spirit. An inner light or aura of power that calls to a vampire. Sort of like supernatural catnip.”

Michael raised a brow and fixed Ronan with a stern stare. “Are you saying that Claire calls to you?” Ronan was enough of a vampire to feel an instinctual pull if what he said about her was correct. Would Michael soon be fighting a horde of males for possession of Claire? He’d kill anyone—including Ronan—who sought to take her from him.

Ronan looked up from the codex. “You might want to do something about your persistent growling. It’s off-putting.”

The feral rumble died in Michael’s chest, though his annoyance failed to dissipate. “Why is it you refuse to answer my questions, Ronan? I ask you from where you acquired the codex, you deflect. I ask what you discussed with Claire, you deflect.” Michael’s teeth clamped down tight and he ground out, “I ask if you feel drawn to her, and you
deflect
. I’m tired of you dodging my questions.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m tired of you acting like an uncivilized fool with the sort of base urges a caveman would cringe at. Claire and I exchanged polite conversation while you slept. Nothing more than that. Do I feel drawn to her? No. Do I sense the power of her life force? Of course I do. We
all
do. But I also sense an otherness in her that is … unsettling. As for the codex,” Ronan said on a sigh. “I acquired it from Siobhan. At what price is none of your gods-damned business. Now, can we please get back on track?”

Siobhan.
Gods, that female was a thorn in Michael’s side. She thought herself a queen and ruled her coven with an iron fist, not to mention a supremacy and disdain for the vampire race. She reviled the idea of being turned. Of sacrificing her soul, despite the prospect of a tether. That Ronan chose to consort with her was yet another annoyance that Michael had no choice but to suffer. Who the male bedded was none of Michael’s business. But if Ronan had breathed a word of Claire’s existence to the cagey female he wouldn’t hesitate to demand that Ronan end their affair. Siobhan was wild. Dangerous. A variable he didn’t have time to address.

Dry heat licked at his throat and Michael continued to pace, focusing his energy on placing one foot in front of the other. Anything to keep his mind from his damnable thirst. No matter how he’d gotten the codex, Ronan was offering Michael a glimmer of hope, dim though it might be. But even a glimmer was a dangerous thing after centuries of darkness. “Tell me everything you know so far,” he said. “We’ll start from there.”

CHAPTER

14

Claire woke feeling downright hungover. She’d slept like the dead, sort of funny considering her current circumstances. It took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the dark gray twilight, and her surroundings slowly came sharper into focus, the shadowy outlines of the bedroom more defined. She lay in a virtual island of a bed, the large California king dwarfed by the sheer size of the bedroom. The heavy metal window coverings had retracted and a light evening breeze stirred the curtains as the sound of birds settling down for the night filled the air.

She stretched her arms high above her head, wondering at the stiffness she felt. The priest had roughed her up pretty good last night, but she felt as though she hadn’t flexed her muscles in at least a month. The fog that settled in her brain seemed reluctant to lift, and remnants of dreams clung like cobwebs in her memory: Mikhail coming to her again and again and instructing her to sleep in that deliciously deep voice of his. And in her dream Claire had fallen into his arms, helpless to deny the command.
Weird.
Especially since she couldn’t remember ever going to bed. The last thing she remembered, she was about to blow out of this place, hand on the damned doorknob before Mikhail had put the kibosh on that plan. They’d been standing in the foyer and then …
nothing
. Everything after that moment was a total blank.

“Aw, crap!” Claire shot up to a sitting position, immediately regretting it. Her head pounded and the room swam.
Wow.
She really did feel hungover. She’d missed her shift at the diner and Lance was going to kill her. She couldn’t afford to get fired, death threats from secret societies or not. And if her new babysitter thought he could just keep her locked up in his spiffy mansion like some sort of stray cat at the pound, well, he had another think coming.

From the center of the bed she crawled toward the nightstand. Holy crap, the mattress was enormous. An entire family could sleep on the damned thing. A sigh of relief escaped her chest at the sight of the telephone, and she eased it from the cradle, dialing the diner’s number as she held her breath and said a silent prayer that she still had a job.

“Pancake Palace,” Lance answered with way too much cheer for someone who stood at a hot stove for sixteen-plus hours a day.

“Hey, Lance. It’s Claire. I’m so sorry I missed my shift—”

“Holy shit, Claire! Where are you? Are you okay? I’ve been worried sick!” The panic that infused Lance’s words put her on high alert. Way too much concern for someone who’d just barely missed a shift. “I was getting ready to file a missing-persons report.”

“I missed you, too.” Claire cleared her throat, her voice thick and lazy with sleep. What was going on with her? “Look at us. One shift apart and we’re pining for each other like an old married couple.”

A pregnant pause followed and her stomach twisted into an anxious knot. “Claire … it’s been three days.”

What?!
“Um, yeah. Right.” A good hustler was always quick on her feet. “That’s what I meant. I’ve been pretty much out of it. I think it might be mono.”

“Shit.” Lance groaned. “You washed your hands religiously on your last shift, didn’t you?”

The last thing he’d want was a potential health scare at the diner. “Oh yeah. I always overdo it in the hand-washing department. But I think I’d better keep my distance until I can get into an urgent-care clinic for tests. If you have to hire someone to replace me, I’ll understand.” Claire swallowed down the lump in her throat. She needed that job, damn it.
Please, please don’t fire me.

“You should have called me sooner, Claire. But I had mono in high school so I know it can lay you low. I might have to hire someone temporarily, but don’t worry. Your job is yours as soon as you’re certified germ-free. But until then, I don’t want to see your face. Understand?”

She let out an audible sigh of relief. “Gotcha.”

“Feel better, Claire.”

“Thanks, Lance. I’ll see you later.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” he said.

“I will. Bye.”

For a long moment Claire sat on the edge of bed, the phone clutched in her grip. Three days? How? On wobbly legs she stumbled across the vast bedroom, her vision failing as night slowly swallowed the last remaining gray of twilight. “Damn it!” She sucked in a sharp breath as her knee smacked against the polished wood of an antique couch, and she skirted the sitting area, her bare feet sinking into the thick pile of the expensive carpeting. When had she taken off her shoes? What in the hell was going on?

Fiery indignation swelled up inside of her, burning through the oxygen in her lungs until all that was left was a raging inferno. Mikhail had done something to her. She recalled the glint of silver flash in his eyes moments before he spoke the command “sleep.” He’d worked some sort of freaky vampire mojo on her! “Bastard,” Claire said from between clenched teeth. “I’m going to kick his ass!”

She tripped in her rush for the door, throwing it open too quickly, only to bang up her opposite knee. “Shit. Mikhail!” His name burst from her lips in an angry shout as she limped down the hallway toward the third-story landing. “Mikhail!” She was going to kill him. Kill. Him. No one hustled a hustler, and Claire’s pride had taken a serious hit. He’d stacked the deck in his favor, using whatever supernatural power he had to keep her in an unconscious state. It was one way to keep a houseguest, she supposed.
What. A. Jerk.

Good lord, this place was a freaking museum. Down one flight of stairs, onto the second-floor landing, Claire felt if she took a wrong turn she might end up in Narnia or some shit. Both of her knees were throbbing and she was still so groggy that putting one foot in front of the other seemed like too great a feat to surmount. Fueled by anger, she continued on her track. She might well pass out by the time she made it to the bottom floor, but damn it, she was going to give that high-handed bloodsucker a piece of her mind before she did.

She flew down the second flight of stairs, tripping on the last three in a graceless slide that nearly deposited her on her ass when she hit the first floor. Mikhail came around the corner, looking as drop-dead gorgeous and put together as ever, one sardonic brow cocked curiously. “Claire.” How was it possible for him to sound totally calm and collected? It made her even angrier.
And how dare he be so damned gorgeous!
It was totally an unfair advantage. “You should be resting.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” God, he smelled good. A waft of dark chocolate and warm summer gardens hit her nostrils, and Claire’s step faltered. His effect on her was instant and visceral. She wanted to strip him naked and lick him from head to toe.
Damn him.
“Three days!” she railed. “I’ve been asleep for
three days
?”

He took a slow step toward her, and another. The rolling gait was hypnotic, predatory. Each individual muscle in his body flexed and released, an artistic display partially hidden by the expertly tailored dress shirt and slacks. A shirt and slacks she wanted to tear off of him—

Focus, Claire. Get it together. Don’t let him hustle you again.

She froze at the bottom of the stairs, her body temperature rising the closer he got. His gaze drifted to her cheeks that she knew were flushed with color. It didn’t take much for him to rattle her, and he was well aware that he had the upper hand.
Well, not for long.

“Claire.” He rested his hands on her shoulders and she bristled. He’d done this to her before. At the doorway. His pupils flashed silver and Claire’s limbs became heavy. Tired. “Sleep.”

No!
The command screamed through her mind as she latched on to the necessary will to fight whatever power he used to make her compliant. She felt a push, as though rejecting the intrusion into her psyche, and Claire straightened, her limbs no longer heavy and her mind clear of the fog that had weighed her down. “Don’t you dare try to work your mind-control magic on me ever again, Mikhail! Seriously, what in the hell were you thinking? I’ve been asleep for days?” Claire took a cleansing breath, but it did little to assuage her anger. “You’re lucky you’re bigger than me because if you weren’t I would lay you
out
!”

Mikhail pulled back, his brow furrowed as shock dawned on his handsome features. “Claire,” he said again as quicksilver chased over his gaze.
“Sleep.”

“No.”

She’d never seen him so taken aback. Not the calm, bossy,
ü
berbadass vampire. The furrow in his brow deepened. A crease that cut just above the bridge of his nose. “I can’t compel you.”

“Noway, nohow.” Her stomach growled with all of the ferocity of an agitated bear and Claire hugged her torso to mute the sound. Pretty hard to act like a tough girl when her gut was shouting for a cheeseburger. “Now, you listen to me. I’m not some doll you can tuck under the covers and disregard. I’m starving. Dirty. I ache everywhere. And I need a damned glass of water! Do you not have any idea how to take care of someone?” She marched past him toward the kitchen. “I’m serious, Mikhail. If you don’t feed me in about five seconds, I am going to go
off
.”

*   *   *

Michael stared after Claire, dumbstruck.