Pool of Crimson (21 page)

I went rigid. Pain seared through my body from my toes to the follicles of my hair. It was sharp and all encompassing. I hadn’t realized Patrick had pulled away until I heard his anguished yell, filling the confined space with the sound of our shared pain.

My nails dug into his skin. His fingers clutched the flesh of my ass as the muscles in his neck tightened, his jaw clenched, and the rosy red of his blood-covered lips became thin as he braced against the pain. My mind shoved against something—I couldn’t determine what—as it seeped into my being. It was too strong, and I couldn’t fight the magic behind whatever was sinking into me. I pulled back a little and softened the line between my mind and the magic pushing up against it. The moment I gave just a little, I saw flashes. Pictures of things I’d never experienced.

Patrick, sitting on a river bank with a cigarette in his hands; a beautiful dark-haired woman standing over me with clear blue eyes and dark hair. I felt his fear, his mortification, and his regret. A lovely blonde with green eyes and an adoring expression on her face. Both women looked like they’d stepped right out of a WWII movie. The blonde smiled at me as she waved from the pier. I felt Patrick’s sadness as he watched her and the shore disappear from sight. I saw the woman from the club with bright yellow hair laughing with her hand on my shoulder, only the shoulder wasn’t mine; it was Patrick’s. I felt his love for her. She was a friend.

My mind cleared and the pain receded as my lungs caught up with the rest of my body, allowing air to finally fill my chest. I released a shuddering breath and loosened my grip on Patrick’s back.

My eyes fluttered open. When I tried to pull my eyelashes apart, I’d been squeezing them shut so hard that the mascara had stuck together, his eyes were wide and filled with fear as his fingers clung to me in desperation. His grip was starting to hurt.

“What the hell was that?” My voice still sounded too far away, and my breath was ragged in my throat.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” he growled, and the rumble of it in his chest made me tighten around him. “Uhh,” he groaned, still inside me. “Sweetheart, you have to let me go,” he said with a laughing plea in his voice.

“Sorry,” I said apologetically. My muscles were still relaxing after the orgasm, and the sharp pain of whatever the hell that was. I loosened the hold my legs had around his waist, then brought my knees down to the seat. He lifted me slightly off the seat and pulled out of me. I felt the loss of him, like I was empty inside. I hated that feeling.

He collapsed down on the seat next to me and closed his eyes as if he were about to go to sleep. His whole body was relaxed and fluid, like he hadn’t a care in the world.

I, on the other hand, was rigid with a whole new sensation ... grief.

I’d crossed a line. I’d slept with him. I slept with the undead, and I enjoyed it. I wanted more. The longer he stayed silent, the more despondent I became. Tears filled my eyes. I was ashamed of myself and the desire I still felt. I wanted to reach out and touch him. I wanted him to touch me again.

I shouldn’t want him to touch me again. I shouldn’t want to stay.

“How long have you seen them?” he asked, thankfully interrupting my condemnation of myself.

A warm tear slid down my cheek as I turned to him quickly, pushing the dress back down over my ass.

“What?” I bit out, confused.

“The dead,” he said, furrowing his brow but not opening his eyes. “I couldn’t tell how old you were, five maybe six. You were scared and surrounded in the dark. A closet? But they wouldn’t leave you alone. You were rocking back and forth but you couldn’t make them go away,” he said.

The second and third tear grazed my cheeks as my mouth fell open in astonishment. My breath hitched in my throat, making an audible sound of pure anguish.

He opened his eyes and finally looked at me. “How old were you?” he asked again.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I don’t remember a time without them.” I wiped the tears from my cheeks, shook my head, and took a deep breath.

I would not cry. I would not let him see me cry.

He gave me a look that told me he knew exactly what those tears had cost me.

“Did you see anything else?” I asked, almost ashamed of myself for wanting to continue this conversation. I just hoped that was all he’d seen. I couldn’t bear it if anyone knew the torture I’d suffered at my parent’s hand. No one knew about that. NO ONE!

“A few things,” he said as he grabbed for his deep burgundy velvet blazer. He reached into the inside breast pocket and pulled out a familiar pair of panties. It wasn’t too many nights ago that those had been ripped from my body in violence. They dangled in front of my face as a horrible reminder of how close I’d come. “I’m glad you killed him,” he said with a growl that vibrated deep in his chest. A flash of horror surged across my cheeks. “I would’ve killed him myself,” he said as his dark eyes turned to me with anger, vengeance, and violence as he clutched my panties tightly in his fist.

“I-I forgot about those,” I said as the image of the vampire ripping those same panties off me with violence flashed before my eyes. The difference between that night and this one were miles and worlds apart. I hadn’t shied away when Patrick ripped my panties. In fact, I’d been hoping for it. Now I held my head high and looked him in the eye.

“I didn’t,” he said as he shoved them back in his blazer pocket. I guess I wasn’t getting them back. “Did
you
see anything?” he asked softly a hint of fear in his voice.

“I did,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. I pulled my legs in. “Just flashes really. Nothing cohesive.”

He nodded as if he understood I was having problems putting the images into words.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” he said, watching me shy away.

“I never imagined you as the talkative type,” I said with a sarcastic quip.

He met my eyes with the hint of a smile in them. “Not normally, no.”

“So why now?” I asked, skepticism making my voice sharp. He leaned back and rested both arms out over the back of the limo seat, presenting a very comfortable façade. He looked comfortable. I felt anything but.

“I want you to know me,” he said as his eyes narrowed in on me. I understood what he wasn’t saying. He wanted me to trust him and I didn’t.

“Okay,” I said as I tucked my feet up under me. I slid my hand along my thigh, close enough to reach the garter belt beneath my skirt. His eyes followed my hand, and his lips made a small upturn at the corner of his mouth. “So who were they?” I asked with an edge of jealousy to my voice that I hadn’t expected. He smiled at that, too.

Bastard.

“Who?” he asked simply, with that cocky, satisfied little smile on his full lips.

“The dark-haired woman with the blue eyes and then the blonde waving from the shore,” I bit out.

“Oh,” he said with a little more reserve and a hint of something dark that I couldn’t identify. He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke. It wasn’t what I’d expected.

“I was with my unit, the 45th Infantry Division, which landed in Saint-Tropez in Southern France that August. I’d been in Southern France for a few weeks as our unit made its way toward Epinal,” he said, and then took a deep breath and focused his gaze on me. “It was a city I wouldn’t see,” he said without hesitation. He sounded sad as he leaned his head back against the seat of the limo, looking everywhere but at me.

“I remember very clearly that with all my gear on it was still ridiculously hot in September. At any free moment, I was trying to get away from the rest of the unit and have some time alone. I read my letters over and over again until they were worn through, especially the letters from Rose, the blonde. I’m not sure, looking back, that I was in love with her but I believed that I was at the time. I think it was more a combination of the stress of war and having something to look forward to once I got home. I’d created a romanticized version of her in my mind.” He turned his head and finally looked at me. His eyes were dark and shadowed. A shiver ran up my spine as I met his gaze.

“It was just after dusk when I ventured out on my own into the high grass of a field,” he said. “I pulled out my cigarettes and my letters. I’d just gotten a new letter from Rose. I was extremely homesick. Even if the letter was three months old, it was something. Rose’s letters reminded me of a time when I wasn’t plagued by nightmares, death, disease, suffering, and remorse.”

“The unit had made camp along the Rhone River, and I walked as far away from prying eyes as I could get and still have the camp lights in sight. I remember sitting in the grass and smelling her letters for the longest time. I’d convinced myself that I could still smell her in the paper instead of the stench of my own sweat and other people’s blood seeping into the paper. I was delusional, of course.” He smiled at me with chagrin. It was a faint little half-hearted smile that made me smile back in reassurance.

“I reached for my lighter and lit a cigarette. I realize now that it was the cigarette that they saw and not necessarily me. I heard the pop and felt the jab in my chest, but I wasn’t completely sure what had happened. It was hard to catch my breath, but I was almost numb all over. I fell back on the ground when I couldn’t feel my legs anymore. I was confused when I couldn’t get my legs to work to stand and run away. I knew I was supposed to run away. I gasped for air as panic consumed me. I was alone. No one knew where I was. I was lost. I know this will sound silly, but all I could think of was that Rose would never know what had happened to me.”

He was quiet for a long while and I remained silent, afraid to move.

“She was like an angel standing over me,” he continued, almost misty eyed. “I knew I had to be dead. I tried to speak but couldn’t find the air to push my words out.” He turned to me with pleading eyes. “She had dark hair that flowed free in the breeze and soft pale skin with the most translucent blue eyes. She was beautiful. I thought I’d been rescued by an angel.”

“‘You are dying, my beautiful,’ she said to me so matter-of-factly in a thick French accent. I almost didn’t understand her at first. Once I grasped her meaning, I was startled. She was speaking to me of death as if it hadn’t happened yet. I could hear my own gurgling in my throat as I tried to breathe. I was drowning in my own blood, and I suddenly understood. I knew it in my bones. She smiled down at me and it was welcoming. Death was welcoming me home. I was both terrified and delighted by her smile. ‘You can perish here on the bank of this river and meet your maker, or you can come with me,’ she said carefully. At that moment, I felt that going with her had to be better than dying. When I nodded, she took my hand gently like she could hurt me. ‘You will not regret it,’ she’d said so confidently. She picked me up and carried me off like I weighed nothing, even with all my gear on. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up and realized that I was no longer the man I’d been. I felt different, more alive, but apart.”

He’d made a choice. Was it the wrong choice? Would I have made the same choice? I don’t know.

“When I awoke, I wasn’t alone. My angel had brought me home to her mate,” he said with a slight smile on his face. He looked like he was remembering a pleasant childhood memory.

“Ethan?” I asked. He nodded and turned to me with an appreciative smile on his face.

“Ethan and Margot were my family. They taught me everything, how to hunt and how to be smart about it. They taught me how to exist in the human world without being noticed and how to survive in it. They were my parents, my family, and my friends. I’ve never regretted my decision ... I would be dead now if I had refused her.” He was quiet for a moment before he continued. He looked reticent and almost wistful. “I do think, sometimes, that I miss being human. I do wonder that if I hadn’t been shot and on the verge of death if Margot would have taken the chance to turn me?” He flexed his hands along the back of the seat.

“What happened to Margot?” I asked, suddenly sullen. The grimace that spread over his face showed the pain that was still so close to his heart.

“She was murdered by a rival colony in retribution for some of Ethan’s activities,” he said softly.

“What happened to Rose?” I asked softly, not wanting him to hear the jealousy that burned through me. He smiled at me, and I could have sworn that I saw his dark eyes twinkle in the lighting overhead.

“I was dead to her. One of the thousands of soldiers missing in action. She eventually married and had children. I think she was happy. She’s been dead for several years now.” There was no regret in his voice. He talked like he was speaking of an old classmate and not a woman he supposedly loved.

I let that sink in for a while in silence as I processed what I’d just heard. “You said you needed me alive. Why?”

He turned his head and looked at me with eyes bright with pride. He turned in his seat and faced me, exposing me once again to his beautiful body and the shimmer of his pale alabaster skin in the soft dome light.

“Ethan is my Liege, but I think he’s lost his mind. He’s become power hungry and vengeful. He’s planning on killing the local pack Alpha. Dean ...” he said as he closed his eyes and pushed his hand through his hair forcefully.

“Dean’s a friend,” I said softly.

“He is,” he said simply. “Ethan’s concocted this ridiculous plan. He’s forbid me from speaking of it with anyone, and I can’t seem to break that hold,” he said, slamming his fist down into the seat.

“Ethan’s raising a demon,” I said, an anxious edge to my voice. Fear simmered in Patrick’s dark eyes. I saw the helplessness in the slump of his shoulders and the thin line of his usually full lips.

“That is Ethan’s intention. He won’t be able to control it either and he doesn’t seem to care. That damned thing could kill us all,” he growled.

“He needs the amulet,” I said sheepishly as I looked up at him from underneath my lashes. His hand reached underneath my chin and tipped my face up to meet his narrowed eyes.

“You have it?” he asked. I nodded once. His dark eyes closed with a sigh of relief. “Good. Keep it. Wear it. Don’t take it off. He doesn’t have anyone strong enough to wield it and control this thing,” he spat out. “Maybe if he can’t find the amulet, he’ll give this plan up.”