Vampire Mistress
Page 39

“Yeah. Probably.” Gideon glanced toward their motionless charge. “Doesn't seem to cover all of it.”
“Explain.” Daegan's tone was that of a field colonel, demanding an answer or there would be hell to pay.
But Gideon was more comfortable with that than circuitous chitchat.
“Whatever it is that makes her . . . what she is, is having a very hard time with this. For a while the bloodlust was covering it, but I caught it a little while ago. She's been having panic attacks all along, and those might be contributing to the increasing frequency of the seizures and bloodlust. Stress makes things worse. She's damn good at covering, too good.”
“She always has been,” Daegan grumbled. “It's very difficult to tell when she is truly upset, until it's too late.”
“Particularly in this case,” Gideon agreed somberly. “I think the lack of control is eating at her worse than anything. She can tell they're getting worse, and that an element of her mind is slipping away from her. If we don't give her back some true sense of control soon, something she can use as an anchor against all the rest, I think she'll break her own mind before the bad blood does it for her.” He shifted.
“The flip side is, if we give her that, I think she's strong enough to handle anything. I just don't know what'll do that for her.”
Something clicked in Daegan's gaze, something that apparently startled him enough to disrupt his typically inscrutable expression. Gideon cocked his head. “I ring a bell?”
“Perhaps. Give me a few moments to consider it.” The vampire sank to a squat on his heels, eschewing the furniture, his duster pooling around him. Gideon could almost hear the gears shifting; then he saw a humorless tug at Daegan's mouth, a flicker in his dark eyes.
“It is something I believe, oddly enough, you are best suited to provide, Gideon. So we will have to consider an alternative.”
“What do you mean? I'll give her whatever she needs.”
Daegan lifted a brow, tilting his head up. “Such heroic declarations are usually meaningless bullshit, vampire hunter. We all have our lines in the sand.”
“The Kung Fu David Carradine Grasshopper crap hits the manure meter just as hard. Spit it out.”
“Like most things, what could break her is also the key to what could save her. She is an incomparable Mistress, Gideon. Very focused. You said it yourself. If we give her something that is hers, something that can't be taken away from her, it may help.”
“Christ, are you a woman? Would you just fucking say it?”
“Fine.” Daegan rose. “Let her make you her servant. Let her into your head.” The words hit his brainpan, but they had to sizzle and burn before they penetrated. Gideon stared at him.
“I didn't hear you right.”
“You heard me well enough.” Daegan gave him an even look. “A new vampire doesn't usually take a full servant for many years, because she must learn how to guard her thoughts, and not plumb the servant's mind too deeply. In Anwyn's case, because of the poison in her sire's blood, I believe she needs someone immediately. You already anticipate her attacks, and with a mind connection, you could help her with bouts of erratic behavior that may continue past the bloodlust transition.”
“So you want me to be like some kind of dog for the disabled.”
“If you like. She has many collars here. I suspect you like rhinestones.”
“I suspect you can fuck off.”
Daegan's look became steel, an expression suggesting Gideon was about to cross a line.Good. He liked to see it clearly when he stepped over it. “I'm not becoming any vampire's slave, not now, not ever,” he said emphatically.
“As long as you see it that way, I believe you,” Daegan agreed. “But I know you'd lay down your life for any woman in need. This is no different. A servant is not only functional. A third mark is a reserve of strength for a vampire. When something knocks a vampire off her axis, the servant can provide the strength to steady the boat.”
Gideon knew that, damn it. Lyssa had drawn strength from Jacob when she most needed it. “You know, I'm getting sick of hearing the things you know about me, without explaining how you know them.”
“Another topic, another time. We will stay focused on this.”
“Then don't bullshit me. You're not the only one who knows things. She'll be a vampire,” Gideon said shortly. “Doesn't matter what she was yesterday; I know what happens. How she'll change. And what being a servant means in your world.”
He almost snarled at Daegan's fixed expression. “I'm the wrong choice for it. When and if she wants a servant, she'll choose someone else. Someone better. In a couple weeks, when she's well on her way through the worst of this”—he hoped—“you won't even need me. I'll head out.”
“And go back to killing vampires like her.” Daegan leaned against a support column. A small photograph of a peaceful beach had been hung there, some original signed print. A sunrise, lots of reds and golds and pinks. An early-morning beauty that would be a death sentence for Anwyn if she were caught out in it.
“No, not like her,” Gideon spat. “More like that garbage you took out tonight.”
“Fine.” Daegan straightened. “As I told you, we all have our lines in the sand. Once you committed to it, there could be no doubts. She can't afford weak loyalty.” Gideon wanted to argue, but it was knee-jerk, irritation at the vampire's tone, not at the truth of it. “If you wish, you may go now,” Daegan continued, turning away. “In fact, I think that's best, so her dependence upon you doesn't increase. I'll administer the sire's blood and care for her from here forward. We can achieve the balance she needs without your presence.”
“If anyone's going to dismiss me like I'm some kind of bellboy, it's not going to be you. She can—” Daegan spun back around. What Gideon had taken for an indifferent tone was revealed as something else altogether as he saw the tips of fangs and that deadly trace of crimson in the vampire's eyes.
“I will not allow you to work out your personal shit at her expense. She gave you a taste of something you were seeking, but, as you pointed out, she is a vampire now. You loathe everything she will have to become to survive. If you cannot set that aside, you are just prolonging a bond that will hurt her far worse when you hack it free with that dull-blade mentality of yours.”
“It's not all or nothing. I don't have to become her servant to prove anything to her. And I sure as hell don't need to prove anything to you.”
“No, you don't. But you have something to prove to yourself. That is what I will not tolerate, not here. I will not allow you to make this—make her—that battleground. Go back to your life, such that it is.”
“Fuck you.” Gideon spun on his heel, strode into the reading room. His intent was just to move away from the conversation before it got really nasty, but his gaze fell on his weapons. Daegan had left them in a chair hours ago, out of his reach as requested. Out of habit, a calming ritual, he began to strap them on, slide them into their proper places.
As he did, he imagined the day hewould walk out of here and not look back. Headed to the next job, as Daegan had said. There was a vampire in Georgia, one that took his annual quota of twelve human lives, plus a few more. It would probably take a month to set it up, do the legwork, get the jump on him. If Lyssa and Jacob were back in Atlanta then, maybe he could visit them. And his new nephew, the one with tiny fangs and Jacob's laughing eyes.
He kept his gaze fixed on the easy chair as he put the weapons on. The more he thought about leaving, the worse the burning sensation in his chest got. The greater the desire grew to go back down the hall, steal a look at the woman curled on the couch in her cell, surrounded by a coil of chains. To see if she was waking. If she needed him.
Fate lets you run from nothing. Run as fast as you wish, and she'll throw a brick wall right in front of you, smash that pretty face. Lyssa had said that to him, on a recent phone call where he'd evaded an invitation to come spend Christmas with them.
If we don't give her back some sense of control soon, something she can use as an anchor against all the rest . . .
Hell, had he planted the seed himself? Because it seemed the damned thing was already sprouting in his brain, setting out runners. What scared the hell out of him was he'd known what Daegan was going to say almost before the words came out of his mouth. He recalled how Anwyn had asked what had drawn him to Atlantis.
What if it's this? A destiny that's been eating away at you ever since you shared your brother's Mistress.
Christ, next thing he'd be getting his palm read and reading Tarot cards. It was bullshit. She was a fucking vampire. But she was also a woman who needed him. No matter how capable Daegan was, Gideon possibly could provide her something that even he couldn't. Otherwise she would have let the vampire mark her a long time ago, right?
Oh yeah, ego stroking. His subconscious was working this angle hard. Freaking little internal hustler.
“Damn it, damn it, damn it.” He rose with an abrupt jerk where he'd sunk down on a chair arm. His muscles screamed in protest, even his bones creaking. He was really beyond exhaustion, not a great time to be having an argument with himself. He wanted to go up above, breathe in the world and get some perspective.
The sudden, urgent thought brought him up short. No, he assured himself. He wasn't bolting. He'd come back. This wasn't good-bye, even though he'd donned all his weapons. It was just a quick run above for some fresh air. That was, unless Daegan wouldn't let him back in.
He strode back to the dungeon room. Over the music cabinet, Daegan had opened a panel that revealed a television screen. It figured Anwyn would have cable access in her dungeon room. Enjoy the latest Dancing with the Stars episode while she wrung some poor bastard out. She was still out on the sofa, her braided hair following the contour of her bosom, her hands curled under her cheek, giving her a deceptive, childlike appearance. She already had that peculiar propensity vampires had, not to breathe when they slept, the braid motionless.