Breathless (15 page)

“Sure, thanks.” Caitlin grabbed a cup from the stack on Cali’s desk and plopped down on the edge of the bed, holding the cup out to Cali, who emptied the bottle into the cup.

Caitlin took a big swallow and smacked her lips together with exaggerated delight. “Not bad,” she said. “So, what’s got you two so fired up?”

“Oh, not much,” Cali said. “Leesa’s been telling me about her walk with Rave this morning.” She paused, and then spoke with exaggerated excitement. “He finally held her hand!”

“Ooooh,” Caitlin said, grinning. “Was it good, Leesa?” she teased.

“Oh, great,” Leesa said, shaking her head. “Now I’ve got two of you on my case. I should keep my big mouth shut.”

“He kept his gloves on, though,” Cali added.

“Uh-oh,” Caitlin said in mock seriousness. “That’s worse than keeping his socks on during sex.”

“Maybe he’ll wear the gloves during sex, too,” Cali said. “Talk about using protection!”

Cali and Caitlin burst into laughter. “Rule number one: no gloves during sex,” Cali said through her laughter.

Leesa tried to control herself, but failed. She joined in the laughter, though not as loudly as her friends. It did seem kind of silly now, but that didn’t detract from how wonderful it felt at the time, Cali and Caitlin be damned.

“It gets better,” Cali said after a few moments. “He
almost
kissed her.”

Caitlin fluttered her hand dramatically against her chest. “Be still my beating heart,” she said. “Really?”

“And it was
magical
!” Cali continued.

The laughter started up anew, even louder than before. Leesa didn’t care. Her friends could tease her all they wanted. What were friends for, anyhow? Besides, it
was
magical.

When she stopped laughing, Caitlin turned to Cali. “Our little girl is growing up so fast. We’d better have the
talk
with her.”

“You two are too funny,” Leesa said, smiling. “Have you thought about taking your act onstage?”

“We’re only teasing cuz we love you,” Cali said. “You gotta admit, it’s pretty funny, at least for us.”

“I know,” Leesa admitted. “Just don’t lay it on too heavy, okay? I’m kinda new to this stuff—unlike a certain pair of wenches I know.”

“Ooooh, that hurts,” Cali said, clutching her chest.

“Guilty as charged,” Caitlin said, grinning and stretching her
i love boys
T-shirt out from her chest. “Cali warned you those Maston guys were strange, remember?”

“Seriously though,” Cali said. “Rave has a gig most guys would kill for. That no-phone thing is too perfect. The perfect excuse never to call. And since he can’t call ahead, he can just show up whenever he wants. If this gets out, guys’ll be ditching their cells by the hundreds.”

They all burst into laughter again. This time, Leesa laughed as hard as the others. She much preferred laughing with, than being laughed at.

Twenty miles to the east, across the river from where the three girls talked and teased and giggled, Rave stood in the dark outside the door of an old cabin, the same incident replaying in his mind. He had so badly wanted to kiss Leesa. For an instant, the pull had been so strong he’d almost forgotten himself, forgotten what he was, forgotten what could happen if his mouth met hers. He’d recovered in time, of course, but the memory still burned strong in his mind. He needed to know more, to know what his options were, to know if he could somehow kiss her without killing her.

The cabin was the oldest in their settlement, older than Rave, built of rough hewn logs cut from the surrounding forest more than two hundred years ago. Dried mud black with age chinked the spaces between the logs. The two front windows were tiny—glass had not been an option when the cabin was built, so deer hide had hung over the openings back then. Glass had been added later, and Rave could see flickering light inside, telling him that Balin—his friend, his mentor, the closest thing he had to a father—was inside.

The long-lived volkaanes didn’t breed the way humans did. A couple of times each century, all the women of childbearing age became fertile, and the Festival of Renewal took place. A day and a night were spent in song and dance and prayer, and the coupling that followed would produce ten to fifteen offspring, enough to insure the continuation of the tribe. When the infants were born, they were taken from their mothers to a large cabin in the center of the settlement and raised communally, never knowing their true mother or father. It took a full two score years for a volkaane to reach maturity and be deemed ready to take their place among the tribe—ample time to form an attachment to one or more of their teachers, as Rave had with Balin.

Still, he hesitated outside Balin’s door. As close as he felt to the old volkaane, he was unsure how or even whether to broach the subject of what was happening between him and Leesa. In the more than a century and a half of his lifetime, no volkaane he knew had ever paired with a human. He’d heard such a thing had been done on rare occasions, but he didn’t know if the stories were true. There was only one way to find out. He sucked in a deep breath and knocked on the old wood door.

The volkaane who opened it was tall and thin, an inch or two taller than Rave’s six-foot height, with a lean body only slightly bent from more than five hundred years of living. He wore handmade buckskin clothes, the same as he had worn when he was younger—unlike many of his folk, he had never switched to more modern garb. His long hair was dark gray, the color of lead, with streaks of the characteristic Maston copper still visible in places.

Balin’s lined face broke into a broad smile when he saw Rave waiting on his doorstep. “Young Rave,” he said, “what a nice surprise.” He stepped back from the doorway. “Come in, come in.”

Rave shook his head as he followed the old volkaane inside. He had been “young Rave” a century and a half ago, and guessed he would remain “young Rave” until Balin finally passed away, probably in another couple hundred years. Rave was in no hurry for that to happen.

The inside of Balin’s cabin was Spartan, even by Maston standards. The entire place was one room, six paces wide and ten paces long, furnished with simple, handmade wooden furniture. A rectangular dining table with a split log bench on either side filled most of one end of the place, and a straw-filled sleeping mat covered the floor at the other end. A small fire crackled in a stone fireplace in the far wall, adding its flickering light to the illumination cast by four tallow candles high on the walls. Volkaane fireplaces were used for cooking and light, since they needed no fires for warmth. If necessary, their inner fire could even be used for cooking, but it was usually simpler and more efficient to put something over the fire. Four crude wooden chairs formed a half circle in front of the fireplace—volkaanes enjoyed watching any kind of fire flicker and burn.

“Sit down, young Rave. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Mead?”

Rave sat in front of the fireplace. What to drink was an easy choice. The way he was feeling, it was definitely a night for mead.

“Mead,” he said. Like all volkaanes, Rave enjoyed the homemade brew, and Balin’s was considered the best in the village.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Balin said, grinning as he uncorked a large bottle and filled two pewter mugs with amber liquid. “Gives me an excuse to have a wee bit myself.”

Balin handed Rave one of the heavy mugs and sat down beside him. They clinked mugs and each took a long pull. The sweet brew slid easily down Rave’s throat. He detected an extra taste to the honey-based liquid. Something fruity. Balin was always adding extra flavors to his brews.

“Apple?” Rave asked.

Balin nodded. “You’ve got a good palate, young Rave. Apple it is.”

Rave took another swallow, smaller this time, now that the edge had been taken off his thirst.

“So, what brings you to my humble abode this evening?” Balin asked.

Rave blew out a big breath. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“When in doubt, the beginning’s as good a place as any, I always say.”

So Rave began at the beginning, with his first sight of Leesa in the vampire class. He told Balin of the immediate pull he felt toward her, and how the feeling grew stronger each time he saw her. He spoke of their first walk, and of the night at the party—how protective he felt when, almost unbelievably, he found her talking to a vampire. He finished by recounting the details of their walk that morning, and how at the end, he had almost kissed her.

Balin listened closely, sipping his mead and never interrupting, his growing concern showing on his face as Rave spoke.

“Thank goodness you didn’t,” he said when Rave was finished.

“I know, I know,” Rave said. “But I wanted to so badly. Isn’t there some way I can do it safely?”

Balin drained the last of his mead and rose to his feet. “This is a two-mug problem, I think.” He took Rave’s mug and crossed to the table to refill both mugs.

“Such a thing is not unheard of, but it’s exceedingly rare,” he said after handing Rave his replenished mug. “When I was young, younger than you are now, one of my fellows took up with a human female. For a month or two, everything seemed fine, but one night, he lost control.” Balin stopped and took a long pull of mead.

Rave took a drink as well. He saw the sadness in Balin’s eyes and knew he wasn’t going to like the end of this story. “Go on,” he said, needing to hear the details.

“His passion grew too inflamed, and he breathed too deeply of her. He realized it instantly and stopped himself before she burned, but it was too late. The life breath was gone from her.” He looked into Rave’s eyes. “He was never the same afterward, young Rave, never forgave himself for his loss of control. He died before reaching his second century mark.”

“That’s horrible,” Rave said. He closed his eyes and sipped his mead, replaying in his mind everything Balin had said. “But it can be done?” he asked at last. “You said it’s not unheard of, just rare.”

“Yes, it can be done. With caution and with practice.” Balin rested his mug on the chair beside him and took Rave’s free hand in both of his. “But I’m not sure it can be done by you. Your power is very strong, young Rave. Perhaps strong enough to make you chieftain one day.”

Rave had long known his power was greater than most, and this was not the first time Balin had talked about Rave someday becoming chieftain. But it was the first time the thought brought sadness and regret with it. He didn’t know how he could give up Leesa.

“I shall delve into the scrolls and see what I can find,” Balin said. “But you really should let her go before this goes any further.” He stood up and paced a few steps, then turned back, his heart heavy. “I’m sorry, but if you love her, the best thing you can do for her is to leave her alone.”

Rave buried his head in his hands. He knew Balin was right, that everything he’d said was true. The closer Rave let himself get to Leesa, the more danger she would be in. The smart thing, the safe thing, would be to let her go. But he didn’t know how. He lifted his head and looked solemnly at Balin.

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he said. “We have to think of something, Balin. We have to.”

18.  GOING ROGUE

T
he boy with fair hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and headed toward the trees. His name was Robert, and he was a boy in appearance only, for he had been born almost sixty years before. But he was just fifteen, a sophomore in high school, when he was made vampire, and he had aged in appearance not at all. Keeping to the shadows, he glided swiftly through the trees. The morning sun was strong enough to burn—already his skin ached dully from his exposure climbing down the cliff face—and the shade from the leafy canopy provided welcome relief. Just as importantly, he needed to stay hidden, lest watchful eyes from the cavern discern his flight.

Robert was boyishly slim, with thin blond hair that fell across a corner of his face. Filled with youthful impetuousness, he was violating the Council’s will by venturing out alone. The desire to feed had grown overwhelming, and he had not been vampire long enough to learn how to control his urges, not with the looming
Destiratu
fanning his need for blood. As long as he was not seen leaving, no one would be likely to notice his absence. He had waited for a bright sunny morning, when his brethren would be most lax about anyone going out, to make his break. Now that he was out, he hoped the blanket of gray clouds covering the western sky would soon block the sun. But even if it didn’t, the chance to feed was worth the pain.

He wound his way south through the trees along the eastern shore of the Connecticut River, the opposite direction from his intended destination, before boarding the old Chester-Hadlyme Ferry, which had been carrying passengers and cars across the river since long before he was born. The big ferry took less than ten minutes to cross to Chester, but even so, he spent the crossing in the protective shade of the old boat’s cabin. As soon as they docked, he scurried into the shadow of the nearest building. The gray cloud layer continued its eastward march across the sky. Soon clouds and sun would meet, and he would be able to move about more comfortably. Staying in the shadows as much as possible, he finally ducked into a covered walking bridge near an old mill that had been converted into a restaurant. The shade inside the wooden tunnel was blessedly cool, so he sat down on the wooden planks to await the clouds.