The Last True Vampire (26 page)

“Ronan!”

He couldn’t breathe. Fear seized him and he broke the surface of the memory, coming back into the present. The familiar expansion of his lungs failed no matter how much air he took in through his nose.

“Your body is dying, Ronan. The transition is nearly complete.” Mikhail leaned over Ronan, holding the male’s body down as he thrashed against his bonds. “Don’t fight it. I’ll release you soon, I swear. Let it happen and the pain won’t be as severe. Once you feed, your lungs will begin to function again, but until then, you don’t need oxygen to survive. Try not to panic.”

Transition.

His own memories came back to him in a rush. He’d walked into Mikhail’s study, expecting to continue their discussion. But the male had attacked, taking Ronan down to the floor to drink him dry. His world faded around him and he floated. Mikhail pressed his wrist to Ronan’s mouth and Ronan drank. Drank and drank until he thought he’d burst. And then everything had gone dark.

“How long?” He closed his eyes, focused past the restraints, and picked through the myriad sounds for that of Mikhail’s heartbeat. The too-slow, sporadic thrum centered Ronan and at the same time caused his thirst to flare hot in his throat. “How long have I been in transition?”

“Almost three days,” Mikhail said. Ronan kept his eyes closed and his focus centered. As his body stilled, his friend relaxed his grip and slowly pulled away. “You’re nearing the end. All that’s left is for you to feed.”

The memories of the Collective scratched at the back of his mind, forcing themselves to the forefront of his thoughts, but he refused to succumb to its pull. Rather, he listened to the sound of Mikhail’s pulse, let the sound calm him. If he could just settle the fuck down, he could sate the burning thirst that was no doubt sending him quickly toward insanity and Mikhail would free him.

“I’m under control,” he said through clenched teeth. In his mind the words were a murmur, though to his ears as good as an angry shout. He dropped down to the equivalent of a panting whisper. “I can do this, Mikhail. Unbind my wrists and let me feed.”

To prove his point he lay still as death, which wasn’t a far cry from his current physical state, on the mattress. The absence of regular bodily function—his mouth not producing saliva, his still lungs and almost non-existent heartbeat—threatened to send him back toward panic. The emptiness he felt at his core, endless and dark, made him want to scream with fear, but Ronan took control of his thoughts. This was all part of the transition. Feeding would reawaken his body. Though he was technically dying, he was also reborn. This was what he had wanted for so long. He’d willingly sacrificed his soul.

Finally, he was vampire.

“You’ll adjust in time.” Mikhail unlocked one of the manacles that secured Ronan to the bed, and Ronan rolled his wrist to alleviate the stiffness. He squinted. Even in the darkened room the brightness permeated his eyes like needles spearing the sockets. “All of your senses are more acute. You’ll learn to differentiate between scents and sounds. Without sunlight, your already-keen eyesight will allow you to see plainly in the darkest of nights. And there is something else.…”

What was coming was no surprise to Ronan. After all, he’d drawn on Mikhail’s strength for decades. “The dhampirs will sense that I’ve been turned and they’ll draw on my power.”

“It will be different than you’re used to. You’ve been on the receiving end for decades. Now, you’ll be giving. The draw feels like…” Mikhail paused as though searching for the right word.

“A violation?” Ronan ventured as he tried futilely to swallow.

“In a way.” Without another word Mikhail released Ronan’s other wrist. “You’ll forgive me for not freeing your ankles just yet. I have to be sure.”

Ronan shot upright and the room blurred with his speed. “Sure of what?”

“Jenner!” Mikhail called. Ronan cringed from the volume but forced his mind to adjust to the discomfort.

A moment later the bedroom door swung open and Jenner walked in, escorting a female Ronan didn’t recognize. He cocked his head and looked askance at Mikhail. Her heart fluttered with nerves, jacking up her pulse rate along with a rich bloom of scent that made Ronan’s mouth water. Or at least it would have if it weren’t so gods-damned dry. The female was excited and a little scared, too. Her reaction called to the predator in him and a secondary set of fangs punched violently down from his gums, throbbing. If he didn’t sink them into her throat,
now,
he’d go mad.

“If you harm her, Ronan, I’ll beat you bloody. Do you understand me?”

Mikhail’s protective tone was admirable. “I understand.” The bloodlust gripped Ronan and he forced himself to focus on his promise to take care with the female who’d volunteered to feed him. He wanted her. Wanted her blood to gush down his throat. The dhampir took a seat on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair to one side, baring her throat to him.

Ronan seized her in a blur of motion and sank his fangs into her flesh.

Bliss.

*   *   *

“You look tired, Claire.”

She gave Vanessa a wan smile as she paused near the open door. “Tired” was an understatement. More than ready to collapse, Claire wanted nothing more than to fall face-first into bed. “I’m beat. Still getting over the mono.” If by “mono” she meant “morning sickness.” “How’s school going? You need anything? Notebooks? Pencils? A binder?”

“No, I’m okay.” She leaned her little body against the doorframe and folded her arms across her chest. “I was wondering, though … I mean, if you’re not still too sick…”

Claire waited patiently for Vanessa to ask her question. She knew better than anyone how embarrassing it could be to ask for help. Even from a friend. When they’d been down-and-out, her mother never had a problem with the whole beg, borrow, and steal mentality. Claire could never stomach the begging or borrowing. Obviously, she hadn’t minded stealing.

“I want to buy a bra and Mom isn’t exactly, well, you know.”

She didn’t have to say any more. Claire knew exactly what Vanessa’s mom was. But seriously, a bra? Vanessa was in the fifth grade for crying out loud. “Well, if you think you really need one, we could go tomorrow. I’m closing at the diner. We can go shopping before I have to be at work.” She might have enough energy to take Vanessa shopping if they went early. With each passing day Claire was so exhausted by sundown that she could barely keep her eyes open.

“That would be great!” Vanessa’s expression brightened and she leaned toward Claire. “Corra McKenna says that every girl in the fifth grade owns at least a sports bra.” Vanessa’s gaze dropped to her chest and she shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve got much to worry about down there, but I don’t want to be the only girl in the school who doesn’t wear a bra, you know?”

“Be ready by nine, okay? We’ll get donuts before we hit the store.” Well, Claire would get Vanessa donuts, anyway. She doubted she’d be able to stomach a glass of water, let alone a deep-fried pastry. Her stomach heaved just at the thought and she took a step away from the door. “I’m going to go lie down and get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning, though. Okay?”

“I’ll be ready.” Vanessa was practically bouncing with excitement. “See you tomorrow!”

“See ya.”

Claire shut the door to her apartment behind her and turned the dead bolt. Lord, she was exhausted. Step by step, one foot dragged after the other as she lost focus of everything around her in the course of her trek to the bedroom. Her hands wandered to her lower abdomen, palms splayed over her womb. There was a child growing inside of her. An actual little … person? Were vampires considered people? And in her case, would the baby be a dhampir? Mikhail said that vampire/human pairings resulted in dhampir babies. What did vampire hybrid babies look like, anyway? Were they born with little bitty fangs? If that was the case, breast-feeding was out of the question.

Whether her baby would have mini-fangs came second to the fact that in nine months Claire was going to be responsible for a helpless little life. Someone was going to depend on her. Look to her for guidance. Hell, for food and shelter. She’d have to clothe him and feed him, put him to bed, and make sure he was clean—

He.

A secret smile curved Claire’s lips. She didn’t know how, but she was certain the baby was going to be a boy. With Mikhail’s dark hair and aqua blue eyes. The thought of her vampire made her chest ache as tears sprang to her eyes.
Stupid hormones.
Running out on him had been a total dick move. And continuing to focus all of her energy on blocking their connection was even worse. Maybe that was why she’d been so exhausted lately. Her body was already trying to funnel everything she had to the baby; by blocking Mikhail she was expending energy she didn’t have.

Another week. She needed one more week to think things through. Decide what she really wanted. Could he even turn her now that she was pregnant? She had no idea how this whole vampire thing worked. Even more reason to go back to him. Claire didn’t like to fly blind. It went against her nature. Mikhail could arm her with knowledge, help her to form the best plan of attack.

Above all of that, though, she missed him. He was with her whether he realized it or not. She felt his presence as though he were standing right beside her, and there were moments when she would turn around convinced he’d be at her back. How was it possible to yearn so deeply for someone she’d spent so little time with?

Claire collapsed on the bed, too tired even to take her shoes off. Outside, the sound of a police siren grew louder and louder, rushing past the apartment building with a flash of red and blue lights before fading off into the distance. She missed Mikhail’s house, far away from the lights and sounds of the city. She longed for the quiet and the soft peacefulness. She longed for
him
.

I’ll try to be the mom you deserve, baby
. Her thoughts drifted as sleep descended.
And maybe, if we’re lucky, you’ll get the dad you deserve, too
.

CHAPTER

20

Ian Gregor lounged against the hard back of the cheap office chair in Tristan McAlister’s tidy office. He missed the days of keeps and castles, dark and foreboding mead halls illuminated by torchlight. He missed the gods-damned mystery of it all. Waiting around for the director in a brightly lit office with silk greenery decorating the bookcase was a far cry from the Sortiari’s former glory.

Whatever happened to a little pomp and fucking circumstance?

After another ten minutes of mind-melting boredom, Tristan decided to grace the room with his presence, strolling through the door as though the world waited to do his bidding. The Sortiari had always been a group of smug, egotistical bastards. At least one thing hadn’t changed over the centuries since their inception. And since you couldn’t get higher up in the ranks than the position Tristan now held, there was nothing left but to sit and listen to what the bastard had to say.

“I’m afraid the situation has changed, Gregor.”

“The hell it has.” They were still fighting the same battles they always had. Were still acting on the whispered orders of mysterious seers who steered the council’s directives. And Tristan was still a suspicious son of a bitch who was so out of touch his office sported decorating accents that had died out in the eighties. He needed to get rid of the Rubik’s Cube and step into the twenty-first century.

And now Gregor was supposed to sit here and listen to this secretive, sanctimonious son of a bitch tell him that things had changed? That a centuries’-long need for vengeance should simply be cast aside. Disregarded and tucked away into their sordid history? Gregor squared his shoulders. His bloodline could be traced back to the earliest Scottish royalty. A bloodline that had been all but squashed by the treachery of a power-hungry laird and his filthy coven. For Gregor, nothing had changed.

“Tell me, Tristan. What have your seers seen now, after so many centuries of certainty that what we’re doing isn’t in Fate’s best interest any longer?”

Tristan let out a long sigh and raked a hand through his tawny hair that was beginning to show signs of gray at the temples. Nothing was infallible, not even the director of the guardians of Fate, it seemed. Gregor tried to stem the smug sense of satisfaction that tugged at his lips. In shutting himself away from the world, becoming a veritable hermit, Tristan had accomplished nothing but to sign his own death warrant.

“If you go after him, you’ll set things in motion that can’t be undone,” Tristan said. “Is that what you want, Gregor? Is your sense of vengeance so strong that you would malign Fate in the process of seeing it through?”

He didn’t even have to consider his response. “Yes.”

“You have no quarrel with Mikhail Aristov,” Tristan replied. “You merely seek to destroy what he represents.”

Exactly!
Wasn’t that the point? “Two hundred and fifty years ago, you set me loose upon them with instructions to kill every last one. What has changed that suddenly Mikhail Aristov gets to cheat death not once, but twice in the same millennium?”

“I don’t expect you to understand, Gregor. You can’t see past your own blind hatred.”

As though the directive to eradicate an entire species was a decision borne of compassion. “Explain it to me.” His tone cooled to freezing. “Indulge me.”

“It’s Fate’s decree,” Tristan simply said. “That’s all you need to know.”

Gregor shot forward and brought his fist down on the desktop, sending a pot of silk violets to the floor. The air in Tristan’s office became static with the residual charge of magic. Magic Tristan was too damned weak or too damned cowardly to wield. “What about your promise to me?” he railed. “I’ve served you faithfully!”

His accent thickened, the long-lost brogue of his ancestral tongue returning with his anger. He’d turned his curse into a blessing of sorts, letting the Sortiari use him and his brethren to their benefit. But it was apparent now that he and his were nothing more than the lapdogs the vampires thought them to be. Kept on too short a leash.