Chapter Seventeen
In the bathroom, Seb had pulled on clothes as fast as he could, as if they were armor against his stupid heart.
He’d bonded, damn it.
Years of detachment. Blown in one moment of weakness. Of sex.
He sighed and gazed at himself in the mirror. No. He had to be honest with himself. This moment had been coming since the first time he’d heard the clanging of her jewelry, smelled her bright citrus and sweet woman’s scent, seen her piquant, defiant, loving nature. It hadn’t been sex.
With Brie, it was lovemaking.
Didn’t matter how he felt anyway. His vampire nature had taken the situation by the horns and made her his.
Mated.
Strangely, he wasn’t upset about that. In fact, his blood was calmer than it had been for the last thousand years. Almost as if her bright, brash essence canceled out the biting electricity in his blood.
He frowned at himself in the mirror. Was that even possible?
Well, he couldn’t argue with reality. He definitely felt calmer—but also more vulnerable. Before, it had been imperative to protect her. Now, he not only had something to lose, he had everything to lose.
Then it occurred to him that Brie might have everything to lose, too.
When a vampire’s mate died, the vampire died. It horrified him that if Cleomenes killed him she might wither away from loneliness.
Unless she wasn’t locked into the mating bond, too. It was possible.
His old mentor had lectured him on it, as he had just about everything. Listen well, youngling. Mating is a complex process. One, your mate must be immune to mind control, for equality of will. Two, there must be physical attraction—intense to the point of desiring to merge with her in body, mind, essence. The attraction prompts increasing physical encounters. At some point in the process, a deeper bond is formed.
How, Master?
We don’t know for certain. Perhaps declaring your love while sharing a soul-deep gaze.
Seb had called her mri-jb, and given her his heart. But she…had not. Perhaps she was yet safe.
That was why he’d shut her down. Walked away. He was trying to make her furious at him.
Her anger might be the only shield that could save her life.
He put his hand on the doorknob. Paused, steeling himself to look into her beautiful eyes and pretend he felt nothing.
Liar.
…
I leaped out of bed to dress, surprised when my legs wobbled on me, though I shouldn’t have been.
We’d connected. I know we did. Maybe only an instant, but we couldn’t have had such soul-shattering sex without the spark of hearts touching.
How could he touch my heart then walk out on me?
My eyes and nose itched with tears. Hell, it hurt. Bad enough that I wanted to curl up on the bed around my wounded heart.
But I was damned if I’d let him see me bleed.
Snatching up my panties, I managed to slide them up my legs and over my hips despite my shaking hands. Anger, with myself, with him, started to pump strength into me. With each piece of clothing I snatched up, it infused more strength until I was clothed in record time.
Then I had to wait for his royal emotionally constipated ass to emerge from the bathroom.
While I waited, I pulled out my sketchpad and a pencil. Not to practice but as a way to pour out my feelings. Looking for a fresh sheet, I paged through my case sketches. Camille…then Seb. Bruno…and another of Seb. Ferret-mustache guy, Keydew, and Owun, paging past a telling number of Sebs along the way. A few were odd caricatures. Ferretstache with an actual ferret on his upper lip. The bowlegged vampire, his legs bent as if he was sitting on an invisible barrel. All after I’d talked with Seb about how he investigated.
Damn, I’d sketched the anomalies, exaggerating the reality behind the reality. I’d developed an investigator’s eye that had ruined my art.
Hurrying to find a blank page, I did a quick drawing of Cleomenes…and then found myself capturing the long, clean fangs and scary bright predator eyes of Seb as full vampire.
I flipped a page and resolutely selected a print on the wall as my subject instead.
I sketched a quick copy of the still life. As items appeared on my pad, the pear wasn’t a skewed quadrilateral and the wine bottle didn’t have an unusually bulbous cork.
No exaggerated anomalies, no investigator’s eye popping up to mar my art, which should have been a relief.
I stared at the hen scratchings that were supposed to make a picture. I’d drawn lines and curves that meant nothing. The paper might as well be empty.
As empty as I felt.
All because I’d opened my heart again, and he’d walked away the instant I offered more. At least Seb wasn’t Derek, who’d started shoving his other liaisons in my face.
But with Seb, for some reason, it hurt so much more.
A clack of the bathroom doorknob startled me. Seb was coming out.
I shoved my pain away. Learn from it and move on. I turned my back to the door and pretended not to hear him emerging.
…
Seb was still locked in his internal battle when he smelled vampire.
Rotten vampire.
Panic goosed him. He threw open the bathroom door just as the room’s solid-wood outer door burst into kindling.
Cleomenes filled in the doorway, his chest heaving.
Seb’s fear boiled into shock. The Soul Stealer had completely recovered from his burning at the airport.
Damn, how long would his stolen blood continue to improve him?
“Seb Rikare.” The vampire’s voice was richer, too. “You are mine, now.”
An idea formed in his mind. “Y-you found me.” Putting a helpless quaver in his voice, he edged closer to Brie, who was slowly, casually, sliding her backpack over both arms. “I know when I’m beat. But before you h-hurt me, who is the Shadow Lord you mentioned?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Cleomenes laughed. “You’ll find out—after it’s too late.”
“Too late? P-please, don’t k-kill me.” Seb had gotten close enough to Brie to make his move.
“Beg all you want. I’ll still k-kill you!” While Cleomenes was chortling over his victory, Seb grabbed her and dashed for the window.
“And you will be terrified before you lose your life—Hey!”
Seb had already turned to hit the window with his back, hunching protectively around Brie. Vinyl casing and safety glass burst on impact.
He’d never forget the look on Cleomenes’s face as gravity swept them from sight.
The Soul Stealer had an ancient’s blood, and maybe a few ancient’s tricks, but not an ancient’s experience.
Seb landed in a crouch, breaking a few small bones, but that was nothing. Biting back the pain, he rose, tossed Brie onto the motorcycle. Lifting the bike onto the blacktop, he mounted himself and started it.
He squealed out of the parking lot before Cleomenes even stuck his head out the hole. From the way the vampire’s mouth moved, he was shouting curses.
Lost on the wind as Seb hit the street doing fifty.