She flinched at the reminder they were suddenly being plagued by the fey.
“It’s not my fault.”
Without warning he jerked his head back to meet her defensive glare.
“No, it’s not,” he said in a fierce voice. “Neither were any of the other bad things that have happened in your life.” He reached to grasp her hand. “So stop blaming yourself.”
His unexpected words caught her off guard.
Did she blame herself?
It was a question she’d never truly considered.
She grimaced, struck by an unwelcome memory of hiding in a moldy crypt after she’d run away from her mother, cursing her demon blood.
She’d been convinced that if her father had only been human she would never have been forced from her home or become a persona non grata of witch covens everywhere.
She hadn’t been good enough.
She wouldn’t ever be good enough.
With a small movement she pulled away from his lingering touch, disturbed by Roke’s unnerving ability to see past the walls she’d so carefully constructed.
Being exposed meant being vulnerable to danger.
“You blame me,” she accused, stubbornly going on the attack rather than admit he might have a point. “At least for the mating.”
“Sally—”
His words broke off as the waitress returned to set a plate of cheesecake on the table along with a tall glass of milk.
Eagerly, Sally lowered her head and dug into the food.
When she had a choice between prodding at unhealed wounds or enjoying silky, creamy cheesecake . . . yeah, no contest.
The cheesecake was going to win every time.
Roke waited for Sally to polish off the dessert and start on the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon that arrived next.
Only when it became obvious she intended to try to block him out completely did he reach across the table to lightly touch her arm.
“Sally, look at me.”
She went rigid beneath his touch, grudgingly lifting her head to meet his searching gaze.
“What?”
He held her wary gaze, forcing the words past his lips. “It’s difficult for me to discuss the death of my chief.”
She blinked, clearly caught off guard by his confession before she was smoothing her expression to one of faux indifference.
“Yeah, you’ve made that perfectly clear,” she muttered. “I understand you were close to him.”
“It’s not that.” He grimaced. “Or at least that’s not the whole story.”
She shrugged. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I don’t have to, I want to.”
She stared at him, her dark eyes too large for her pale face and her stoic composure unable to hide the fragility just below the surface.
“Fine.”
He turned his head to stare out the window, keeping watch on their surroundings as he struggled past his instinctive need to keep the past locked away.
“My sire, Fala, was unusual for a vampire.”
“Unusual?” Sally prompted.
“She believed that she could read portents revealed by nature.”
“Could she?”
His lips twisted. Fala had thoroughly enjoyed her role as mystic for the clan. Roke had simply enjoyed knowing his beloved sire was happy.
“She had an uncanny knack of being right more often than not,” he said.
“Did she pass the talent onto you?”
“No.” The vivid memory of Fala standing in the middle of the desert, her dark hair flowing down her back and her sloe eyes narrowed as she studied the formation of rocks or the precise speckles on a bird’s egg, sent a pain slashing through his heart. Their bond had been more than sire and foundling. She had been his teacher, his protector, and in some strange way, his mother. “Fala managed to teach me to decipher glyphs and trained me in most of the known demon languages, but I had no talent for her mystic readings.”
He turned back as the waitress returned with a tray of pancakes, biscuits, hash browns, and fried pierogies.
They waited until the woman had once again retreated before Sally buttered a biscuit and studied him from beneath lowered lashes.
“Did her mystic readings involve you?”
He wasn’t surprised by her perceptive guess. Sally had spent a lot of years in the shadows, studying the people around her so she would always be one step ahead of the danger.
“On the night Fala sired me, she witnessed a comet shoot through the sky.”
She finished the biscuit and started to smear something on the pancakes. God almighty, was that peanut butter?
“What does that mean?”
“She interpreted it as a sign that I would one day be a great leader.”
The tiny witch actually began to demolish the large stack of gummy pancakes.
“That seems like a good thing.”
“I never gave it much thought,” he admitted. “Not until my chief, Gunnar, mated.”
She abruptly glanced up. “That’s why you went to the battles.”
He gave a slow nod.
His first thought had been to simply leave the clan and find another.
It wasn’t that he was afraid. Not of the battles or challenging his chief. But Gunnar had become a true friend, before his mating.
It’d been Fala who’d pointed out that by fleeing the territory they would leave the rest of the clan at the mercy of the slavers who made a routine habit of picking off the more vulnerable members.
She reminded him of her vision and insisted it was his duty to take care of those who were too weak to run.
“I had to do something before the clan was completely destroyed,” he said. “Once I completed the trials I intended to return and challenge Gunnar to become chief.”
She unconsciously licked a dab of peanut butter off her lower lip, and Roke’s aversion to the brown paste was suddenly replaced by a compelling vision of spreading it across his body so that tiny, wet tongue could spend an hour or six licking it off him.
“Obviously you succeeded.”
“No.” His distraction was only momentary as he was forced to remember his shock when he’d arrived home. “When I returned to Nevada it was to discover Gunnar and his mate had died in a fire.”
She slowly pushed aside her plate, sensing his long-buried pain through their bond.
“Despite the tragedy, it must have been a relief not to have to challenge him.”
He clenched his hand on the table, the force of his bleak emotions making the windowpane tremble.
“It would have been if I hadn’t suspected that Gunnar’s timely death hadn’t been an accident.”
Her eyes widened. “Murder?”
He nodded, although a vampire didn’t have that particular word in their vocabulary.
Until the previous Anasso had taken command of the vampires they’d been little more than brutal savages who took what they wanted without consequences.
That’s why it was imperative that a vampire become a member of a clan with a strong chief who could protect them.
“Yes.”
She tilted her head to the side, the threads of bronze and gold in her hair shimmering beneath the fluorescent lights.
“Was there another contender to the throne?”
He shrugged. Only a vampire with the mark of CuChulainn could claim the right to become clan chief.
“None that had survived the battles.”
She frowned. “Then it was an enemy?”
“Only one that could have walked past the guards.”
There was a long pause as she studied his grim expression. “You know who it was, don’t you?”
“Fala.”
She sucked in a shocked breath. “Oh.”
Fine cracks began to form on the table where his fist rested against the cheap Formica.
“She had convinced herself that my glorious destiny needed a helping hand.”
“Were you an
gry with her?”
“I was disappointed she didn’t trust my ability to win a fair fight against Gunnar.”
Her well-guarded expression at last softened, her hand reaching to lightly touch his clenched fist.
“Have you considered the fact that might not be about trust?”
He scowled. “Then what?”
“Maybe she wanted to spare you the trauma of killing a man you once respected. That’s what a mother does.” Her eyes abruptly hardened at the thought of her own mother. “Well, at least, I suppose that’s what a mother would do if she wasn’t a psychopath.”
He inwardly cursed, turning his hand so he could capture her chilled fingers.
He’d revealed his past in an effort to earn her trust, not to bring up old wounds.
“Sally—”
“What happened to her?” she firmly interrupted.
His gaze shifted to where her pale fingers remained in his tight grip, absorbing the tactile connection. Her warmth was the only thing that allowed him to speak past the cold regret that surged through him.
“Not long after Gunnar’s death she met her ancestors.”
“What does that mean?”
“She greeted the dawn,” he said, his tone stripped of emotions. Not that he could hide the intense pain he’d felt when he watched Fala step from their lair into the morning sunlight. He’d never truly forgiven himself for being too far away to save her. “Most assumed that she’d tired of her very long life. It’s not that uncommon among the very ancient.”
Genuine sympathy darkened Sally’s velvet eyes. As much as she longed to be a callous badass, her vulnerable heart would always betray her.
Of course, it was that very vulnerability that constantly managed to unman him, he ruefully conceded.
“But you didn’t believe that?” she asked softly.
“I’ve always feared it was guilt.”
Without warning her brows snapped together. “No.”
“No?”
She squeezed his fingers. “Fala sounds as if she was a strong woman who firmly believed in fate,” she insisted.
He gave a slow nod. “She was.”
“Then she would have considered her choice a matter of destiny.”
“Or desperation.”
“Roke, if she truly had faith in her visions, then she had faith in you.” She leaned forward, her expression one of utter certainty. “Whatever led her into the sun, it wasn’t guilt.”
Roke became lost in the dark beauty of her eyes, the gnawing fear that he’d been responsible for Fala’s death easing at the certainty in her voice.
How many years had he punished himself with the fear that Fala had to betray her own honor to protect him?
It’d been a constant source of shame.
Now, with a few simple words, Sally had given him the courage to remember Fala as a proud, fearless vampire who accepted her duty, just as Roke had accepted his.
It was a gift that was beyond price.
He lowered his head in a gesture of profound respect.
“Thank you.”
Chapter Eleven
Sally managed to eat through most of the menu before she at last shoved aside the plates, sighing in relief.
Or at least she told herself that it was the vast mounds of food that had lightened her mood and caused the strange flutters in the pit of her stomach.
Otherwise she’d have to admit that Roke’s unexpected glimpse into his tormented past had broken through her defenses with an ease that should terrify her.
She didn’t want to ache at the thought of him being haunted by the memory of the woman who had sired him, or blaming himself for her death.
And she certainly didn’t want to feel the prickles of electric excitement at his casual touches. Really was there any need to brush a stray crumb from her finger, or tuck a curl behind her ear?
It was much better to pretend that nothing had altered between them.
As if to mock her ridiculous decision, Roke reached across the table, his fingers a soft caress as they touched her face.
“You have some color back in your cheeks,” he murmured, a satisfied smile curving his lips.
With a sudden need to distract her odd mood, Sally slid out of her seat and deliberately glanced toward the window.
“It won’t be long until dawn. Shouldn’t we be finding someplace to stay?”
The silver eyes studied her with a hint of puzzlement as he rose to his feet.
“I called the local clan chief before we reached the café and he offered us a safe house not far from here.”
She wrinkled her nose. She’d been on the run most of her life, so it wasn’t like she wasn’t used to going for weeks without a hint of luxury. That didn’t mean, however, she had to like it.
“Another safe house?”
“I have hopes this one will provide a few more amenities,” he said in sympathy. “Are you ready?”
She shrugged, rubbing her hands up and down her upper arms as a growing sense of restlessness tingled through her.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Tossing money on the table, Roke led her out of the café and toward the car parked in the center of the lot.
“Pathetic,” he muttered, shaking his head.
With a jolt of surprise, Sally realized that she’d fallen a step behind Roke, her gaze glued to his rock-hard ass shown to perfection in the faded jeans.
Cursing her increasingly strange mood, she jerked her head up and prayed he hadn’t noticed her lingering stare.
“What’s pathetic?”
“This . . .” He waved a slender hand toward the car. “Piece of shit.” He gave another soulful shake of his head. “We need a new ride.”
She arched a brow. “Are you one of those men who need an expensive ride to make him feel macho?”
With a fluid motion he turned, his hand cupping her chin as he studied her upturned face.
“I’ve never had a problem with macho, but I do have a problem with riding around in a tin can.” His gaze lowered to her unsteady lips, perhaps realizing she’d lost track of his words. Awareness sizzled in the air, sending a dangerous, melting heat through her blood. Then, with a hiss, Roke’s attention shifted toward the nearby trees. “Get in the car.”
She didn’t hesitate.
Dashing around the hood of the car, she yanked open the door and slid inside. She managed to get the door shut, but she was still struggling with her seat belt when Roke had the motor started and was shoving the car into gear.
She clenched her teeth as they bounced through potholes large enough to swallow the tiny car.
“What is it?”
“Fairies.”
She shivered, shifting to peer out the back window. “Are they following us?”
“No, they’re watching from the woods,” he muttered, pulling onto a narrow path instead of the main road. “At least for now.”
They jolted down the pathway at a speed that threatened to rattle the car into scrap metal, but Sally didn’t complain. She was as anxious as Roke to reach the protection of the vampire lair.
Roke took two more turns, each one taking them farther from civilization. Just as Sally was about to accuse Roke of refusing to admit he was lost, they came around a corner to halt in front of a large log cabin nearly hidden in the trees.
“Wait here,” Roke murmured, sliding out of the car and disappearing among the shadows.
It took him less than five minutes to make a complete sweep of the area before he was returning to the car and leading her into the house.
Keeping a watch on the nearby trees, Sally hardly noticed the wide terrace or the heavy steel door that swung open after Roke had punched in a series of numbers.
It wasn’t until she’d stepped over the threshold that she took stock of the actual house.
Her eyes widened as she took in the large great-room that was paneled in a dark, glossy wood. The floors were made of flagstone, matching the fireplace that tower
ed toward the twelve-foot ceiling. Heavy leather sofas and chairs were arranged throughout the long room with a chandelier made from some sort of antlers spilling a soft glow over the entire space.
And peering down from the walls were a half dozen stuffed animal heads mounted on wood placards.
Yeesh.
It looked like a hunting lodge for one of the Rich and Famous, not a supersecret vampire lair.
“This is a safe house?” she demanded.
He shut and locked the door. “Most vampires enjoy their comforts, although there are a few who still prefer isolated caves and a ban on all technology.”
She turned her attention to watch as he moved through the room, touching a keypad on the far wall that turned on the monitors that were obviously connected to the security system.
Although he was dressed in modern jeans and a heavy motorcycle jacket, there was something raw and untamed about his dark beauty.
It was etched into the stark features that were framed by the silken ebony of his hair and the feral grace of his movements.
And those astonishing eyes . . .
He was a hunter who would never be entirely civilized.
“Including you?”
He sent her an exasperated glance. “Why do I sense you’re convinced I live in a teepee in the middle of the desert?”
She frowned. Was he offended? Impossible. His skin was as thick as a rhino’s.
“You don’t seem the type to feel comfortable being surrounded by . . .” She waved a hand around the large room. “This.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I’ll admit I prefer less wood. And I try to avoid dead animals staring at me from the walls.”
“No shit.” She glanced toward a moose that was eyeballing her with what felt like accusation. “They’re freaking me out.”
Roke moved to stand directly in front of her, gently adjusting the neckline of her sweatshirt before smoothing her hair behind her ear, as if he desperately needed the small, unnecessary touches.
“There are bedrooms upstairs,” he said, his expression carefully guarded even as his fingers traced the shell of her ear. “I know you’re probably not tired right now, but Alexei promised the rooms were fully equipped with TVs and attached bathrooms. There’s also a kitchen that’s kept stocked with human food.”