The Burning (50 page)
She said nothing. He peered at her in the gloom as the candles went out one by one.
Very well. She wasn’t satisfied with that. “I have made horrible mistakes in my life. Mistakes others have paid for.”
She looked like she didn’t understand.
Damn her! “I drove Beatrix away,” he said through clenched teeth. “I made Asharti. I couldn’t love her. I drove her crazy. She tortured, killed, made thousands like Kilkenny. I let a civilization make human sacrifices to me. I let another
get massacred by their enemies because I wouldn’t make them strong like I was by sharing my blood, even though they pleaded. I couldn’t kill the Irishman. I couldn’t even atone for my sins. Don’t forget, I killed innocent made vampires at the lodge right along with the ones who had committed atrocities, almost without a second thought. And I ended in making you . . .” His voice trailed off, his passion drained away.
He glanced up. Ann’s clear gray eyes watched him. There . . . there was no judgment in them. “You’re sorry for that?” she asked calmly.
“No!” He shook his head convulsively. “Of course not. But . . .”
She raised her brows again.
He shook his head. She was going to pull it out of him. Make him say it . . . “If you knew other men, you’d know what I’m talking about. I’m not . . . good. Not like you are.”
“Oh, yes. The other men I touched, say the squire, and Jemmy Minks, and my uncle. They were all far better than you are. Lord, my uncle wanted to give me to Erich, Stephan. I could have hated him for that but I loved him because I understood why.” A look of alarm passed over her face. “For God’s sake, you might just think I’m serious. You know I know all that about you, the Mayans, Tibet, Beatrix, Asharti. Don’t you know I think your struggle to find the right path is one of the most admirable things about you, that I love you for it?”
“But I
failed.”
“Not yet.” She let a little smile cross her lips and uncrossed her arms. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes. I’m still alive.”
“I see the weight on your shoulders,” she said softly. “You tried to lift that weight from Freya today. But no one can lift it for another. I can’t lift it for you.”
What was she trying to say? Freya? What had he said to
Freya? That he didn’t blame her. That she shouldn’t feel . . . guilty. Breath hissed into his lungs without his volition. Was that what Ann meant? But Freya had an excuse. She was the old devil’s
daughter
, for God’s sake, and had lived with that overpowering personality for three thousand years. Freya had reasons. But what excuse did he have for his crimes? Wanton ignorance? Stupidity? He took a step back from her. “I’m not worth your love, Ann.” He rushed through the words. “Someday soon you’ll realize that. And I always tell the truth, even though that’s what pushed Beatrix away. Beatrix came to the same conclusion eventually. She did grow out of me.” The anguish rolling up in his gut made him want to turn away from her, to run into the dark reaches of the cave and hide himself.
“So you’ve told me,” Ann said matter-of-factly. “I consider myself thoroughly warned.”
He let his gaze rove over the stone and the rushing brook and the guttering candles, almost frantic. When finally he let his gaze return to her face, she was looking thoughtful.
“Very well, let us talk truth. I suppose the truth is that you think me shallow and cowardly to have stayed in my nursery for ten whole years. I expect I don’t have enough experience for you. You think you’d tire of me, even though you want me quite badly just now.”
He rolled his eyes. She wasn’t playing fair. “You can’t believe that.”
“As easily as you believe I couldn’t keep on loving you knowing what I know about you. Easier, in fact. I know everything about you. I love what I know. I want to have a chance to keep on loving. Is that so wrong?” Suddenly all her role-playing washed away. Her face collapsed into raw need. It was almost frightening. “Can’t you try to believe that if it’s just
possible
that some first love somewhere has lasted, mine might be the next one? You trusted me tonight. I
saw it in your eyes,” she whispered. “You threw yourself into the abyss with me.”
He stood, frozen. “As you did.”
She nodded, big-eyed. “Is this so different?”
God, but he would toss himself into the abyss without a thought if it would save her an instant of pain or a moment of jeopardy. She was asking him to believe in her enough to let her love him. That he could do. But she was also asking him to forgive himself enough to believe himself worthy of loving. Ahhh, an abyss indeed. Could he have as much courage as this slender, ethereal girl? God help him, he had to, or he was condemning her to unhappiness for certain.
“I’ll try,” he said. “God knows, I’ll try.” He stepped to her and took her in his arms. He was afraid he might crush her, but he knew she was strong now. Strong with the Companion’s song. He had to trust to that. He knew she would feel his commitment. It burned inside him even now. He wanted to be worthy of her. He was willing to brave the abyss to make her happy.
She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “Take me to Paris,” she said. “I want new clothes. Then I want to see Peking and Katmandu, with you.”
He kissed her and felt the fire leap into his loins. Not the pain the Daughters inflicted, but the sweet burning for Ann that would drive him to give her pleasure in whatever way he could for as long as he could. He would protect her from her folly in trusting him. If she believed in forever, he would give it to her. His Companion pulsed in his blood. He could feel the throb in her throat as he covered it with kisses.
They were the same. They loved. They had forever. He had already given that to her with his blood. He would make it into a gift she would treasure.
The blood is the life.
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