Lothaire (Immortals After Dark #12)(40)

She swallowed. “Harems and whoring and horns, then?”

“Suddenly the fate I have planned for you doesn’t seem so egregious?”

She returned to the settee, sitting less stiffly than before. “Just to be clear. My fate, as you intend it, goes like this: In one to thirty days, you’ll send my soul packing—to wherever souls go—and my family will never be harmed by you.”

“Approximately,” he replied, using one of his favorite go-to words. The girl would assume he addressed the number of days. Actually, he spoke of the “soul packing” portion. Her soul would be extinguished—

“By approximately, do you mean the one to thirty, or the rest of it?”

Little witch. “The question you should’ve asked is why the days are so variable.”

“Lothaire. Why are the days so variable?”

“I’ve told you I need a special ring to make Saroya a vampire. The same ring will free your soul from your body.” Not a lie. “It might take me weeks to locate it.”

“I see. Not that I’m complaining, but if you’re supposed to be searching for something, then why were you trying to sleep tonight? Isn’t this pretty much your nine-to-five? Shouldn’t you be out tracing the pavement even now?”

She made him sound lazy.

No one worked harder than he did on his seven little tasks: find the ring, dispose of the human’s soul, turn Saroya into a vampire, kill La Dorada, claim the Horde crown, find Serghei to burn him alive, conquer the Daci.

He took no pleasure from life, enjoyed no amusements. Everything served his Endgame.

Wearied just to think of all that work, he leaned back in his chair. And again, he got the feeling that she was studying him. “Sleep and work are one and the same now.”

“I don’t understand.”

“When I drink blood straight from the vein, I can harvest my victim’s memories. I see his recollections in my dreams, reliving them when I sleep. I feel the bite of cold on his skin, the pain of his injuries, even his death at my hands. Recently, I drank from a man who knows where the ring is. Now I have only to get at that memory, but it’s easier said than done. I have to wade through a lot of them.”

She ran her fingertips over the graze on her neck. “Will you dream mine?”

“Likely. Cannot wait for fond remembrances of squirrel stew around the trailer hearth.”

She parted her lips, no doubt to deliver a cutting retort, then stifled it. “How do you know what’s a regular dream and what’s from someone else’s life?”

“I don’t dream anything but memories, and only theirs.”

“No wonder you’re crazy. But I affect your sanity, don’t I?”

“Saroya affects my sanity. You’re merely a placeholder.”

“So if the ring equals my death, then every time you sleep means I’m closer to dying?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, but yes.”

Finally she gazed away, saying quietly, “Would you give me advance notice?”

“No. No more than you would those deer you hunted.”

“They were animals!”

“Are you much more?” he asked in a thoughtful tone. “And what would you do with your advance notice?”

“I’d want to write to my family.”

“Ah, Ellie Ann’s last letters. How touching. But there’s no room in the Lore for sentimentality.” When he folded his arms over his chest, she seemed to be making a mental note of it.

He’d actually felt a jot sentimental earlier when he’d realized that Chase might die—and with him, Lothaire’s sole hope of a vampire line. Am I to leave nothing of myself behind?

Long ago, Lothaire had created vampires on occasion, but they always predeceased him. He’d lost his taste for it.

Everyone died before him. And now am I to be maudlin, feeling my age?

Elizabeth asked, “Have you ever done anything for another without expecting something in return?”

“I’ll cast my mind back. Further . . . further . . . Ah, yes. During the Iron Age, I came upon a dying mortal warrior on a battlefield. He wanted me to get a message to his wife and children. I was in a whimsical mood. ‘Give her the message yourself,’ I told him, and turned him into a vampire. When he reunited with her, she ran to him, tears of joy streaming down her face, their children trailing her. As their offspring rejoiced, he swung her up in his arms, squeezing her to his chest. Such a poignant moment, such emotion—until she popped like a grape.”

Elizabeth was aghast.

“Vampires and humans do not mix. You’re too frail. If I lost control and laid hands on your body . . . pop.”

She fell silent.

Why would I kill to know what she’s thinking right now?

Probably because I enjoy killing.

In a clear bid to change the subject, she asked, “Do your targets always fall into your clutches?”

“Ninety-six-point-four percent of the time, yes.”

She pursed her lips. “How . . . boring.”

“What did you say?”

“Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the surprise?”

“Life isn’t fun.”

“Not for most, I suppose.” She leaned back on the settee, tucking her legs under her. “But if I was rich like you, I’d have fun.”