Serpent's Kiss (Elder Races #3)(27)

Khepri and the rest of the desert scene faded from sight. He sensed again a kind of passage, that peculiar bent, goingaround-a-corner feeling, but no matter how his mind tried to grasp hold of the concept, it slid away.

Then he stood sweating in a large cool, darkened bedroom. A king-sized four-poster bed dominated one wall. A sitting area with armchairs, footstools and side tables was set up on the other side of the room, in front of a comfortable-looking, well-used fireplace.

Carling sat in one of the armchairs, an open book resting on one of the chair’s arms. Rasputin had leaped onto her lap and was licking at her cheeks. Rhoswen knelt on the floor beside her, gripping her by the hand and saying her name. With a grimace, Carling nudged the dog away from her face. Rasputin switched to licking her hand as he wagged his tail frantically. Carling caught sight of Rune. She looked at him, at the dog and at Rhoswen as though she had never seen any of them before.

She said, “Something’s happened.”

Carling struggled against a feeling of disorientation. She had been trying to read a rather mangled history of the Dark Ages, finding the author alternatively amusing and irritating. The last thing she remembered was putting down her book as she looked at the late-afternoon sunshine, and now her bedroom was in near-complete darkness. Despite her best effort to stave it off, apparently she had faded again.

Distress weighted the air. Rasputin was always disturbed whenever she had an episode. How the dog sensed what was happening, she didn’t have a clue. She gave up trying to calm him and simply clamped her hand down on the back of the dog’s neck to contain his frantic wriggling body in one spot.

There was never any ambiguity about Rhoswen’s upset either. When Carling faded, it invariably threw the other Vampyre into a panic, which was why Carling had put off telling her about the episodes she’d had on the trip to Adriyel.

While Rhoswen’s panic was tiring, it wasn’t anything new. Carling’s attention switched to the source of the sharp, fierce emotions in the room. Rune flared against her mind’s eye like an aggressive, violent infrared volcano. He was breathing heavily, and he smelled of sharp male sweat and exertion. What had happened to him?

As she stared, he seemed to collect himself. He walked over to her with every appearance of calm, but of course she knew better.

“All right,” Rune said. “What’s happened?”

“I don’t know,” she said. She frowned as she tried to reach for the elusive feeling, but it had already melted away. “Something did,” she insisted. “Something shifted.”

Rhoswen started a tearful babble. Carling was so weary of dealing with the younger Vampyre’s self-involvement she simply covered her eyes with one hand.

Rune snapped sharply, “Rhoswen, stop it.”

Rhoswen’s babble cut off in midsentence. She looked at Rune in affronted astonishment.

He told her, his voice hard, “Nobody needs that kind of excess right now. If you cannot add to the situation, get out.”

Carling’s eyebrows rose behind her hand. She was almost inclined to laugh.

Rhoswen’s reply sounded strangled. “I’ll—feed the dog his supper and take him out.”

Carling touched Rhoswen’s hand and told her, “Thank you.”

Rhoswen sniffed and nodded. She scooped Rasputin off Carling’s lap and left with her head lowered.

Rune waited until the younger Vampyre was gone. Then he began to pace around the room. He kept his movements controlled in a slow prowl, as though he would give the appearance of relaxation, but the hot corona of violence that surrounded him all but obliterated her ability to see or sense anything else in the room.

He asked in an even voice, “The episodes aren’t painful, are they? Are you in any discomfort?”

“No,” she said. “I’m just tired.”

She was more than just tired. She was mortally exhausted. Not even the remarkable vitality of Rune’s powerful emotions could energize her this time. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept, or even just rested enough to become refreshed. It was all part of the progression of the disease: one lost the ability to take in physical nourishment and began to feed off emotions, and after a few centuries, one became unable to sleep and the episodes increased. She wrapped her arms around herself and huddled in one corner of the armchair.

Rune gave her a sharp, searching glance. He stopped at one of the side tables to light an oil lamp. It flooded the sitting area with soft light. He glanced at a windup clock on the fireplace mantel and continued on his prowl. “Rhoswen woke up earlier and came to check on you. The sun had not yet set, so you may have slipped into the fade at any time from late afternoon to early evening. It’s almost midnight now. Is that a typical length of time for one of these episodes?”

“They vary,” she murmured. “I recently had one that lasted a couple of days. It sounds like this one only lasted hours.”

“All right.” He stopped in front of the large windows and looked out. He went still, then muttered to himself, “Interesting.”

She regarded him wearily. As fascinating as she found him, right now she wanted nothing more than for him to go away and leave her alone. “What?”

He looked back at her. “Your windows face the east.”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. She caught how his attention diverted to the small movement. A strange expression crossed his lean tanned features, and a sharp emotion like pain pierced him.