The Last True Vampire (6 page)

Insufferable.
Ronan rambled on, about what Michael had no idea. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. Had Amy been a dhampir, she might have recognized the tethering for what it was and stayed by his side. It was Michael who let her run. Let her slip through his fingers. His own confusion and shock had gotten the better of him. He’d let Ronan distract him. Let the dhampirs overtake him. And it was a choice that soured his stomach with regret.

The memory of her, soft in his arms, full lips parted as sweet gasps of pleasure brushed his face, assaulted his mind and Michael’s eyes flew open only to find Ronan staring once again. He quirked a brow, his single set of short fangs protruding from a cocky smile. “You’ve been resurrected, my friend.”

Understatement of the millennium. Michael didn’t know how much of tonight’s events he should divulge to Ronan. It wouldn’t be fair to give the male—any of them, really—false hope. Especially if there was no chance of the race’s grand return like Ronan imagined. Even now Michael couldn’t make sense of what had happened. The human whore had given him sustenance, encouraged his heart to beat as fresh blood did every time he fed. But the other woman—Amy—she had performed the true miracle. Her mere presence had returned his soul to him and just a taste of her blood had awakened his power. He craved her more with each passing moment. How could his soul possibly be tethered to a human’s?

“Seriously, what’s got you so riled?” Ronan let out an overdramatic sigh and pondered the amber liquid as he swirled the crystal tumbler in his grasp. He took another sip and pinned Michael with a stern look. “You act as though you’ve been handed your death sentence.”

Like a sword thrust to his friend’s chest, Michael’s words were sharp as he cut deep. “The female was
human.
Not dhampir. I am not resurrected. I am lost.
We
are lost.”
She is lost.

“Not dhampir?” Ronan repeated the words as though they were incomprehensible. “That’s impossible. I felt your power. Feel it still. A human’s blood could have never—”

“And yet, she did.” Michael didn’t understand why or how, but it had happened nonetheless.

“Okay,” Ronan said cautiously. “So she’s human. It’s weird, but whatever.” Beneath his overpriced designer clothes was a strong male, a male worthy of Michael’s bite. But no dhampir had been turned in over two centuries, and without the continued strength the female’s blood had given him Michael could never risk Ronan’s life by trying to turn him. He would remain a dhampir, never knowing his true birthright. “She could be a mermaid for all I care. She’s changed you. All of us. That’s all that matters.”

“You think so?” Michael asked. A dhampir would have been easy to track thanks to the blood bond that linked them all, but once the human female put enough distance between her and Michael tracking became problematic. “And how do you suggest I go about finding this … mermaid?” She might as well have been a fucking unicorn. The possibility of being tethered by a human was as much the stuff of mythology.

“You can’t sense her,” Ronan said as the realization struck. He sat for a quiet moment and Michael could almost hear the gears cranking in the other male’s head. “But you can still feel her.”

Of course he could. Their souls were bound to each other. His body ached for her, his balls tight with unspent seed.
You’ve had your pleasure; now give me mine.
She’d run from him, all but terrified when he spoke her name. Why? “Yes. But I cannot pinpoint her location.” Which was at the same time curious and maddening.

“Did she drink from your vein?”

Michael cut him a look.

“What? Some humans are into it. They think it’s kinky.”

“Had she taken from my vein, I could have found her no matter the distance.” And while the thought of her drinking from him sent a lick of heat up his spine, wishing it had happened wouldn’t do a damned thing to help him find her.

“It doesn’t matter if she didn’t ingest your blood, though. Right? You have hers and that’s enough to establish a link. It might be weak, but it’s there. We’ll simply find her.”

Michael gave a derisive snort. “It’s easy for you to sport such a cavalier attitude, Ronan. It’s not your mate that’s missing.” Michael stopped midstride as the words he spoke registered.

Ronan leaned forward in his chair, rapt.
“Mate?”

“No.” Michael resumed his pacing. “I misspoke.”

“The fuck you did,” Ronan said. The dhampir rose from his chair with a wide grin. “What happened between you and the female? And don’t even think about lying to me, Mikhail, because I know you did not simply take her vein.”

Didn’t he, though? Even now her scent clung to his fingertips, but the contact was innocent compared to what Michael had wanted to do to her. “I took her vein.” There were things that even Ronan did not need to know. “And nothing else.”

“You’re
tethered
.” Realization accented Ronan’s words as he studied Michael with wide eyes. “The human returned your soul to you. Holy fucking shit, Mikhail! I knew you were different, but … Jesus. This is a game changer. When word gets around—”

Michael bared his fangs, Ronan’s words sparking a protective instinct that spurred him just shy of an act of violence. “You will speak of this to
no one
. Do you understand me, Ronan?” No one could know about his mate. Not yet. Not until he could make sense of what had happened and how. Not until she was by his side where he could protect her from those who would use her. Exploit her.
Gods. My mate?
Again the thought struck him.
Impossible.

“Take it easy, Mikhail.” Ronan raised his hands as though in surrender and crossed to the bar to refresh his drink and pour a second glass. He offered the heavy crystal glass of sixty-year-old Macallan and Michael took it gladly, enjoying the smooth burn and warm glow in his gut that he could only enjoy thanks to the fresh blood that had awakened his body. “I meant no offense. I’m simply saying that we should find her as soon as possible.”

“I’m well aware of what has to be done.” He bit off the sentence before he was tempted to remind Ronan yet again just who had kept him from the female tonight. “Our enemies wait in the shadows for just this sort of event. The awakening of our kind will only spur them to action. If they learn of the female…”

Then nothing would stop them from seeking her out as well. The Sortiari would surely kill her.

His
mate.

A feral snarl built in Michael’s chest. He rubbed at his sternum, feeling the raised flesh of his scar through the shirt.

“They think you dead,” Ronan replied. “In fact, I’ve seen no evidence that the Sortiari even exist anymore.”

“They are as real as you are, my friend,” Michael assured him. “They’re everywhere and see everything. The Sortiari will learn of my tethering. And they will come for her if only to weaken me first. I will find her,” he said through a haze of barely restrained rage. “And I will
annihilate
anyone who dares to stand in my way.”

Ronan smiled and raised his glass in a toast. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Michael downed the rest of his drink in a single swallow. “Indeed.”

*   *   *

You’ve had your pleasure; now give me mine.

She was back there, in the club, held tight in Michael’s embrace. But in her dream Claire didn’t pull away. Didn’t run. Instead, she gave herself over to him, desperate for another kiss and the light sting of his bite at her throat.

She writhed in ecstasy, her mounting passion igniting every nerve ending in her body with a delicious heat. Michael yanked her pants down around her ankles and Claire kicked them off, desperate to be unfettered. The club full of partiers surged with the heavy bass of the music, undulating and moving as a single body. Claire paid them no mind as Michael lifted her effortlessly, positioning her back against the cool wall.

“Submit to me. You are
mine
.”

“Yes.” The word rang true, resonating deep within her soul. She was his and he was hers. Claire knew it as well as she knew herself. “I’m yours,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

He entered her at the exact moment he sank his teeth into the flesh at her throat. Claire cried out, a ragged, desperate sound that tore through her. She broke apart. Shattered. A million particles of matter that separated and re-formed, changing her. Pleasure screamed through her, the orgasm so intense she didn’t think she’d survive it. Heat radiated from her throat where Michael suckled at her flesh as though the very act was all that could sustain him. He thrust in time with each deep pull, increasing Claire’s pleasure. One large hand reached up to cup her breast through the fabric of her T-shirt and she arched into his touch, letting out a low whimper when he brushed his thumb over the sensitive peak of one pearled nipple.

“Oh, god,” she gasped. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop, Michael.”

He thrust deeper, impaling her on his hard length. A low growl rumbled in his chest, a wild, animalistic sound that shivered over Claire’s heated skin. The sound of her pulse rushing in her ears quieted, though another wave of pleasure crested over her, stealing her breath. She tilted her head to the side, if only to give Michael unhindered access to her throat, which he continued to bite, to suck, each pull of his mouth sending Claire further over the edge until she couldn’t form a coherent thought. She never,
ever
wanted this moment to end—

His name burst from her lips, but not the one he’d given her. “Mikhail!” This was his true name, and finally, in some unspoken way, he’d given it to her. As though she was worthy of knowing it. Of speaking it. He pulled away from her throat with a triumphant roar, crimson drops of her blood coloring his lips and dripping from the dual points of two sets of fangs.

Wait. Fangs?

Panic surged within her, banishing the pleasure Claire felt like the wind against blustery clouds. His eyes flashed silver, a predator’s eyes glinting in the darkness, and with the same animal ferocity he buried his face against her throat once more, the sharp bite of his fangs piercing her skin. He attacked her without mercy, drawing with ravenous sucks, and Claire’s arms became weak at her sides, numb. Her legs fell from his waist, though he continued to pound into her, each deep thrust laying claim. Her head lolled on her shoulders and Claire’s thoughts began to cloud as her breathing grew shallow. The slow thrum of her pulse slowed even more. One beat … Two.
Thump
 …
thump
 … Until it stilled in her chest completely and darkness swallowed her.

Claire came awake with a gasp, her heart hammering against her rib cage in a violent staccato. She clutched at her throat, her fingertips searching for puncture wounds at the same time that her body was coming down from the high of orgasm. Her sex pulsed, clenching around nothing as though it missed his absence even as her fear and panic sent her blood racing through her veins. Despite the fear, the utter lucidity of her dream, Claire wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her entire life.

Holy shit.
She’d had some weird dreams, but this one took the cake. The entire dream was so visceral, every moment ingrained in her memory. It had felt so real. Her body ached as though she’d just spent the last hour having the best rough sex of her life. God, how he’d pounded into her— Claire’s breath caught as a rush of wetness slicked her thighs. And though she’d been terrified by the sight of him, fangs protruding, her blood staining his wicked mouth, she’d only wanted more. Wanted the sting of his bite at her throat, yearned for one more deep pull that seemed to fire all of her nerves, thrumming low in her core.

Was she sick, or what?

No one grew wet with desire at such a twisted thought. But Claire was wound tight with the need for release, despite the fact that she’d come again and again in her dream. She was insatiable, it seemed. But apparently only when it came to mysterious strangers who fondled her in public places.

Mikhail.

The name rang with truth. But how could she possibly know that? Claire rolled over and checked the time on her alarm clock: just past seven in the morning. She’d slept less than six hours, but it felt like days spent in another world. A world she was desperate to return to.

How could she feel so connected to someone she didn’t even know?

With a couple of bicycle kicks she disengaged the sheet and comforter from her body. Beneath her worn secondhand Nine Inch Nails concert tee, her skin was clammy and slick with sweat. Jesus, she was burning up. She brought her hand up to massage her aching brow and the heavy Patek watch slid down her arm to almost her elbow. A very large wrist had sported this hardware at one time, and it only made Claire remember how big and imposing the rest of his body was as well.

She needed to unload it. In fact, she’d met with her fence twice since the night she’d stolen it, more than ready to collect her cash. But at the last minute she’d changed her mind, unwilling to part with the only thing she had of him. It was certifiably crazy. Especially when she needed the cash. And yet here she was, sleeping with the damned thing.
Sick.

The cool morning air kissed her skin, helping Claire to come more fully awake. She’d been far too tempted to stay in bed lately, yearning to return to a dream that she had no right to lay claim to. What happened at Diablo three nights ago proved that Claire had lost her edge. That it was time to pack up the con game once and for all. Too bad she was still short on cash. If she wasn’t going to fence the damned watch, she was going to have to go out. Tonight. Her rent was already five days past due, and if she didn’t pay her landlord by tomorrow she was as good as evicted. One more hustle, she promised herself. After tonight she was calling it quits. Finito. Donezo. No more.

“Claire? Are you home?” Vanessa’s tiny voice came on the heels of a knock at Claire’s door.

“Hang on, sweetie. Just give me a second!”

Claire rolled out of bed and threw on a pair of sweats as she padded for the door. Today was the first day of school and no doubt Carlene was too hungover or already too high to help her daughter get ready. Crap. Had Vanessa even eaten breakfast? Claire didn’t have much, but maybe she could whip the kid up some scrambled eggs and toast.