Dead After Dark (Companion #6.5)(79)

“So, let me get this straight. Strength. Heightened senses. Heightened sexuality. The ability to compel others. You can disappear, and you’re immortal. And the blood. Anything else I should know about?”

She raised her brows. “That is all, I think.”

“And you love me. And you believe I love you.”

She nodded slowly.

He took a breath. In for a penny in for a pound. He couldn’t imagine life without her. And if she stayed with him and left him human, the differences between them would drive them apart. “So why not make me vampire?”

She hugged herself, covering her breasts. “I told you, it is forbidden.”

“We’re not talking about making hundreds here. Just one.”

“If you covet eternity, let me tell you, it is a terrible burden, not a benefit.”

It was as though she had slapped him. But he forged ahead. “Do you really think that of me?”

She shook her head, but she was growing more agitated by the moment.

“It would be easier with two facing eternity together.”

“You don’t understand.” She was almost pleading with him. “When love dies you’d be left a vampire. Did I mention it is impossible for us to commit suicide? The Companion’s urge to life doesn’t allow that kind of escape.”

“And what if the love doesn’t die, Freya? If I’m not vampire, our differences will stand between us. It might be better if we parted now.”

“I know,” she whispered. Her eyes were big with pain.

She was giving up. Tears rose to her eyes.

It was up to him, then. He reached out and took her shoulders. “Be bold, Freya. Seize what we might make of this. Take back your life from your father, and all these rules you’ve been forced to live by. Let’s carve our own place, make our own rules.” He couldn’t keep the pleading out of his voice.

Drew felt a hum of life against his spine. There was a new energy in the room, more powerful by far than Freya’s. They both turned. A whirling blackness, darker than the dim room, spun in the corner. Drew set his jaw. This could be bad.





6


Freya knew exactly what the whirling blackness was and who the vampire about to appear would most likely be. In some ways she had been waiting for this moment for over a year. She grabbed for Drew’s shirt, which lay across the end of the bed, and pulled it over her head, her thoughts colliding. First Drew’s outrageous proposal, which was everything she wanted but shouldn’t have. She couldn’t take him up on his offer, of course. Drew didn’t know what life would be like as a vampire. Then came his accusation that she had ceded who she was to her father and to the Rules. And now . . . this.

Her father materialized in the dim room. She tried to still the thumping of her heart and see him through Drew’s eyes. He would hardly look as dangerous as he was. He had a great paunch under the plain brown wool of his habit. His beard was white, his eyes piercing blue. If anything, he looked like the pictures human children had of St. Nicolas. But he was no kindly elf. He was the Eldest. He ruled Mirso Monastery, the final refuge for vampires sick with the boredom and repetition of eternity. She had lived there her entire life before this last year. Actually, all she had ever seen were the tortured vampire souls who took refuge there and the Aspirants she trained to be Harriers. Were there vampires who lived full lives out in the world and never needed Mirso? The thought had never occurred to her.

Her father’s hard eyes swept the room. Drew scrambled out of the bed and stood beside her, naked. He put his arm around her shoulders for support. “Who are you?” he barked.

Her father didn’t deign to answer Drew. “Well, Freya, have you tired of your little rebellion?”

It annoyed her that he didn’t even acknowledge Drew. “He is known these days as Rubius Rozonczy,” she said to Drew. “Father, this is Andrew Carlowe.”

“It is time to return to Mirso, Freya. We have need of a new Harrier, and now you alone are able to produce one.”

She had been trying to prepare for this moment for a year. “I cannot do that any more. Did you not read my letter?”

“Your petty preferences are not at issue,” he said sternly. “You are a trainer of Harriers.”

“No, Father.” She wished her voice did not sound pleading. “The training is painful for them. And the endless arousal and suppression . . .” She broke off in confusion. In the end it had been torture for her as much as for them. “Sexual intercourse should be an act of trust and pleasure between two people. It . . . it shouldn’t be like that.”

“It is your calling, Freya. Vampire kind needs a Harrier.” He glanced to Drew. “If you wish, you can bring your plaything with you. Use him for pleasure, if you need a respite.”

She felt Drew stiffen. “He isn’t an amusement, Father. I love him, and I’m not coming back to Mirso.” There. She’d said it. Her mouth went dry. He was so much more powerful than she was, he could take her back by force. They both knew it.

Her father narrowed his eyes. “You are my daughter. I am the Eldest. You will obey.”

“She’s not doing anything she doesn’t want to do.” Freya started at Drew’s intensity. He moved in front of her, as though that could protect her. “God, man, what kind of father makes his daughter engage in sex like it was a job? Fathers are supposed to love and protect their offspring.”