Not Quite Dead (A NightHunter Novel) (25 page)

Eric suddenly yanked the door open. His eyes were blazing with emotions. "You've given your life for others too many times," he said. "Start living for yourself. Tristan didn't save you to die for us. He saved you because he wanted you to live. Just go."

Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she shook her head silently, too overwhelmed to speak.

For a moment, Eric said nothing. His face was stoic, but his dark eyes were swirling with emotion. He looked so human in that moment, a man staggering under the weight of what he was. That was why she believed in him, because he was more than the spirits trying to bind him. His hands were bunched in fists, and his skin was still ashen and flaking, barely recovered from what had happened. "I don't know what to do," she said quietly, unable to keep her voice from breaking. "I don't know what to think."

Eric ran his hand through his hair, muttered something under his breath, and then walked across the room toward her. She said nothing as he approached, too drained to even lift her head from her hands. How different from when he'd approached her in the bar, with so much electricity and anticipation crackling between them. Now? Just a feeling of overwhelming loss and emptiness.

 Without a word, he knelt before her, two steps below where she was sitting. For a moment, he didn't move, and her vision blurred with the tears she couldn't stop. He was so strong and handsome, his eyes a turbulent swirl of torment.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She held out her arms, and he came to her, pressing his face against her belly. She wrapped her arms around his head, holding him close as she rested her cheek on his hair, unable to stop the flood of tears. He encircled her waist with his arms, pulling her close until he was between her knees.

The sobs wracked her body, tears that she'd held at bay for so long. Tears for that truth that her choices had led to her daughter dying at the hands of the man she'd loved. "I failed my daughter," she whispered. "I didn't protect her. I don't know who to believe in or what to do. I just can't keep failing."

Eric lifted his head. "He killed her. Not you. You loved. It's not your fault. You aren't the one who screwed up."

"Yes, I did! My love was a mistake!" She covered her face with her hands, fighting back the tears. Her love had been a mistake. A failure. The stupid choice of a desperate girl who wanted only to be loved. "I tried. God, I tried. Was he really the horrible man you said he was? And if he was, how did I keep loving him? Why did I believe in him? Why didn't I see what would happen? Why didn't I run with Laura while I still could?"

"It's not your fault." Eric pulled her into his arms, and pressed a kiss to her forehead as she cried. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said all that. I'm just so fucking terrified of hurting you. What if I kill you?" His body began to tremble where he held her. "What if I wipe out the only good thing that has happened to me since that night from hell? What if I destroy the one light that has been able to suppress the darkness that consumes me?"

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. His face was haunted, as haunted as it had been when it had become nothing but shadows, only this time it was his living, human face that was crumbling with anguish. She touched his cheeks, and he set his hand over hers, holding her against him. "You feel so good," he said, his voice raw. "Like you're this angel sent to give me a second chance." His fingers tightened on her. "I'm so fucking terrified that I'm going to kill you. Hell, just knowing I made you cry makes something inside me fracture." He ran his fingers through her hair, a touch far too tender for a man like him. "You're this bold, courageous fire that lights up the world for a thousand miles, and I'm extinguishing it. I can't do that to you, Jordyn. I want to uplift you and bring light into your life in a way I've never done before, not drag you into the hell that I live in."

His words were raw with emotion, cut ragged by the depth of his torment. Her heart ached for his pain. She understood it, because she felt the same way, as if her love could destroy. "I know you're afraid of hurting me." This empathetic soul was the Eric she'd sensed, beneath all his macho arrogance, a man whose soul had been shattered so long ago.

His fear was so thick she could feel it pressing in on her, an invisible weight trying to squeeze the air from her lungs. It was a fear that Walter never had. He had accepted that it might happen, but never allowed himself to feel the horror of it in his bones. Eric wasn't running away from the possibility of hurting her. He was facing it, and that made him different from Walter. She lifted her face to his, looking at him steadily, even though her heart felt like it was bleeding from a thousand different places.

"And I understand you might hurt me." God, to say the words aloud was devastating.
I understand that the man I am falling for might kill me, just like before.

A shudder went through his muscular frame, and he closed his eyes, his grip tightening on her. "So, you'll leave?"

Tears were streaming down her face so thickly that she could taste the salt from them. "What if I leave, and then Tristan kills the entire town without me there for him to feed on? What if I leave, and you lose control and kill someone because I'm not there to help you back from the edge again? What if you find yourself standing there, above a score of your victims, knowing that you pushed away your one chance to win? You can't do it without me, can you?" She knew the answer was no. Eric needed her. Tristan needed her.
They both needed her
. Energy surged through her at the knowledge that she could make a difference. Just like she could make a difference at her shelter in Boston, she could make a difference with these two men. With Eric and Tristan, however, it was personal, and that made it impossible to walk away.

He opened his eyes, staring at her. "You want me to put you at risk so I can save others?"

She shrugged, resolve beginning to pulse through her, shoving aside the fear and doubt. "If I leave, then we're all giving up. Walter gave up, and he killed everyone. I don't want to be like him. I won't be like him. I'll fight the battle to the end." As she said it, she knew it was true. Walter had surrendered to his need to bind them. He'd used the alcohol as an excuse, but he'd done it. He'd stopped fighting. She wouldn't do that. Yes, she wouldn't be dumb enough to fall in love again and risk emotions that could blur her vision, but she wasn't going to walk away when she owed people her life. She wasn't that weak. She hadn't survived eight deaths just to be a wimp and stop fighting.

Eric ran his hand through his hair. "I can't make that trade, Jordyn. I can't risk your life to save other people."

She managed a small smile. "I appreciate the sentiment," she said honestly. "But if you feel that way, then don't kill me."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Ah, my optimistic sweetheart." He brushed his finger across her jaw, sending sparks cascading through her. "You know I can't promise that—"

She sat up, turning toward him, fresh resolution pounding through her. "I think you can." She couldn't quite keep the challenge out of her voice, but it felt good to feel that conviction again. This was Eric, not Walter. They were different, and she knew it.

His eyes narrowed, and he dropped his hand. "Jordyn—"

"You give your life for your brother, and he does the same for you. Both of you are honorable, courageous men who stand by those you love." She touched his face, her fingers prickled by his whiskers. "Walter never promised he wouldn't go rogue. He would never say it. He always warned me it might happen, and I chose not to believe it. Did you ever promise Jane you wouldn't kill her?"

He blinked. "What kind of question is that? Of course not. It was kind of implicit, you know? When you love someone, there's an underlying assumption that you won't disintegrate them. I didn't think it was something that I needed to preempt by a promise."

"Well, there you go. You're older and wiser, and now you know." She stood up and faced him, challenging him. "You told me in the jungle that you would never lie to me. Ever. Well, then, if you promise you won't kill me, then you have to stand by it."

His forehead furrowed, as if he thought her logic was inane. "A promise can be broken. You want me to pinkie swear that I'll never kill you in order to assure your safety? It doesn't work that way."

"I'd believe in you." The moment she said it, she knew she did. It didn't matter what had happened when he was a teenager, or what he was capable of. Eric was not Walter. He could do it. She'd seen Eric take on the vampire, and she knew how hard he'd battled to save them both from the cloud-o-doom. "I'll accept your promise. Promise me you won't kill me."

He swore. "I can't—"

"Promise me!" Even as she made the demand, she saw the doubt in his eyes, and felt the depths of his self-recrimination.

"No." He shook his head, his jaw flexing with stubbornness. "I won't lie to you, Jordyn. I might be a murderer and a whole lot of other unpleasant shit, but I can at least be the guy who stands by his promises, so yeah, I'm not going to promise that you can hang with me and walk away unscathed. I know what I'm capable of."

She sighed. Yes, she understood his trauma from the past, but she also knew who he was now. He'd been a teenager before. He was a man now, in every sense of the word. "Giving validity to your possible shortcomings isn't always a positive character trait. You know that, don't you?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You're giving me therapy? Really? Do I look like a guy who wants his character traits mapped out?"

"No. You look like a guy who thinks it's heroic to wallow in the fact that he happens to be possessed by any number of malevolent, deadly spirits who like to prey on assorted living creatures. It's not heroic."

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm not trying to be heroic. I just don't want you to sit around knitting on my lap when you should be shooting me in the head. Personally, I think it's kind of commendable to warn people that you might kill them
before
you actually do it, so yeah, I think I'm taking the high road here."

"Well, I don't knit, so you don't need to worry about it. Seriously. Do I look like a knitter? Besides, if I were on your lap, the last thing I'd be doing is knitting, because your wandering hands just don't keep to themselves, do they?" She grinned when his eyes darkened, and his arms tightened instinctively around her waist. See? All it took was a little sensual undertone, and she'd pried his attention off his deadly nature. Men. So easy to manipulate.

"So, here's the deal." She stood up, extricating herself from his lap before he could put her accusation into action...ah…too late. "Stop it." She slapped at his hand as it slid over her hips, as if he were reluctant to let her go. She had to admit, the feminine side of her loved the fact that he couldn't quite let her go even when he was demanding she walk away, but at the same time, he was distracting her from her rant. Sometimes, rants were important. Damn him for being so tempting. "The only one you're lying to is yourself." She set her hands on her hips. "I'm staying, because I'm not done here. Not with you, not with Tristan, and not with this town. If you don't like me being near you, then you can be the one to leave."

He glowered at her, all the sexual heat gone from his gaze. "I'm not abandoning my brother—"

"Of course you're not. Then you have a choice to make. Commit yourself to being the man you wish you'd been when you were a teenager, or just give up, like Walter did." She brushed past him and headed up the stairs. "Come find me when you decide." Before he could protest, she spun around and strode up the stairs, ready for him to call her back, or protest, or do some equally irritating Eric-type move.

He didn't follow her, and she made it all the way to the top of the stairs and slammed the basement door shut before he'd even moved.

She leaned back against the door, resting her head against the wood, proud of herself for standing up to him. See? She wasn't going to give up so easily.

Then she noticed that the picture window in the living room was completely shattered. Glass was all over the windowsill and the yard outside. Tristan must have leapt right through it when he was escaping Eric's assault. The memories of what had happened settled down upon her, stripping her of the momentary feeling of triumph. Fear rippled through her. How long until Tristan came back? And what about Cicatrice? She stiffened, adrenaline surging though her body as she looked out the kitchen window, looking for Tristan's face peering in at her, and then noticed the first orange streaking across the sky.

Dawn had come. Tristan and the other vampires would have to go below ground.

She and Eric had time. The respite was too brief, but it gave them time to at least breathe.

With sudden exhaustion, she slithered down the door to the floor, too weary to stand. The last exchange with Eric had drained her of her final reserves of energy. Now the weight of the last two days settled in on her. Two days of desperately awaiting Eric's return to consciousness, and then donating too much blood to each brother, and then nearly being disintegrated. A full weekend by any standards.

There was no noise from the basement, and she knew that Eric hadn't moved either. She decided to take that as a good sign, that he'd absorbed her words of wisdom and beauty, and was contemplating ways to swear his undying oath that he would never kill her.

She stared at the sky, watching it come alive with beautiful pinks and oranges. What would happen when night returned? Would she die at Eric's hands?

She might.

Until he believed that he could stop himself, he wouldn't be able to. She knew Tristan would be coming for her. Her blood had strengthened him, and he would have a day of sleep. He'd be strong and ready, and on the hunt.

The bite wound on her neck tingled, and she rubbed it. The skin was warm beneath her touch, as if the blood was thundering beneath the surface. Tristan was stalking her, of that she had no doubt. Without Eric's intervention, would she be buried in the earth somewhere right now, on her way to becoming Tristan's concubine and blood donor?