Dance of the Gods
Page 18

“Cian,” she said as he started toward the doorway. “I am grateful. For everything.”
He only nodded and continued out. A thousand years, he thought, and he still didn’t really understand humans—and women in particular.
B lair drank Glenna’s tea, and decided she’d stretch out for an hour with her headphones. Ideally, the music would rest her mind, give it time to clear and recharge. But it all circled around with Patty Griffin’s soulful voice.
The sea, the cliffs, the battle. That moment, when the sky darkened, of absolute certainty that she’d come to the end. And that tiny cold seed of relief inside her that it would, finally, be over.
She didn’t have a death wish, she thought. She didn’t. But there was that small, secret place in her that was tired, so horribly tired of being alone, of having what she was and what she had to do dictate she would stay alone.
Alone with blood and death and endless violence.
It had cost her the love of a man she’d wanted so much, and the future she’d believed they would have together. Was that when it had started? she wondered. Was that when that little seed had planted itself inside her? The night Jeremy had walked away from her?
Pitiful, she thought and pulled off the headphones. Pathetic. Was she going to let her psyche be twisted up by a man—and one who hadn’t been man enough to deal with her? Would she come to accept death just because he hadn’t accepted her for who and what she was?
That was just bullshit. She turned to her side, hugging her pillow as she studied the fading light through the window.
She only thought of Jeremy because Larkin had gotten her juices going again. She didn’t want to go soft again for a man, to feel herself being taken over and swept off by all that emotion.
Sex was okay, sex was fine, as long as it didn’t mean anything more than relief and release. She couldn’t go through the pain again, and that awful feeling of abandonment that left the heart a quivering, bleeding mass inside the chest.
No one stayed, she thought as she closed her eyes. Nothing was forever.
She drifted off, the music from the headphones she’d neglected to turn off tinny and distant.
It filled her head, the music that was her own excited blood pumping. It was nearly dawn, the night’s work over. But she was so full of energy, so fired up, she knew she could go for hours yet.
She looked down at herself as she walked the last block toward home. She’d ruined another shirt. The job, she thought, was hell on the wardrobe. It was torn and bloody, and her left shoulder was a mass of bruises and throbbing pain.
But she was so juiced!
The suburban street was quiet and pretty—everyone tucked up in bed and safe. And as the sun came up, the dogwoods and tulip trees were so showy and pink. She could smell hyacinths and took a deep breath of soft, sweet spring.
It was the morning of her eighteenth birthday.
So she was going to clean up, rest up, then spend a lot of time making herself irresistible for a very hot birthday date.
As she unlocked the front door of the house where she lived with her father, she slung her bag off her good shoulder, dumped it. She needed to clean her weapons, but first she wanted about a gallon of water.
Then she spotted the suitcases sitting near the door, and the leading edge of thrill dropped away.
He came down the steps, already wearing his coat. He was so handsome, she thought. Tall and dark, that chiseled face and bold eyes. Just the slightest glint of silver in his hair. A world of love and misery opened inside her.
“So you’re back.” He glanced at her shirt. “If you’re going to let them bloody you, take a change of clothes. You’ll draw attention to yourself walking around like that.”
“No one saw me. Where are you going?”
“Romania. To research, primarily.”
“Romania? Couldn’t I go? I’d really like to see—”
“No. I’ve left a checkbook. There should be enough to run the house for several months.”
“Months? But…when are you coming back?”
“I’m not.” He picked up a small carry-on bag, slung it over his shoulder. “I’ve done all I can for you. You’re eighteen, you’re of age.”
“But—you can’t—Please, don’t just go. What did I do?”
“Nothing. I’ve put the house in your name. Stay, or sell it. Go where you like. It’s your life.”
“Why? How can you just walk out on me this way? You’re my father.”
“I’ve trained you to the best of my ability, and yours. There’s nothing else I can do for you.”
“You could stay with me. You could love me, just a little.”
He opened the door, picked up the suitcases. It wasn’t regret she saw on his face, but an absence. He was, she understood, already gone.
“I have an early flight. If I need anything else, I’ll send for it.”
“Do I mean anything to you?”
He looked at her then, full in the face. “You’re my legacy,” he said, and walked out the door.
She wept, of course, stood there alone with spring wafting in on the pretty breeze.
She cancelled her date, spent her birthday alone in the house. A few days later, she sat, alone again, in the cemetery, preparing to destroy what the boy she’d cared for had become.
For the rest of her life she would wonder if she’d kept that date, would he have lived?
Now she stood in the bedroom of her Boston apartment, facing the man in whom she’d poured all her love, and her hopes. “Jeremy, please, let’s sit down. We need to talk about this.”
“Talk?” There was still dull shock in his eyes as he shoved clothing into a duffle. “I can’t talk about this. I don’t want to know about this. Nobody should know about this.”
“I did it wrong.” She reached out, had him shrug her away in a gesture so sharp and dismissive she felt it cut her to the bone. “I shouldn’t have taken you out, shown you. But you wouldn’t believe me when I tried to tell you.”
“That you kill vampires? What was I thinking, not believing you?”
“I had to show you. We couldn’t get married if you didn’t know everything. It wasn’t fair to you.”
“Fair?” He whirled toward her, and she saw it clearly on his face. Not just the fear, not just the rage. Disgust. “This is fair? You lying and deceiving me all this time?”