To break such a bond, p.9
To Break Such a Bond, page 9
“I’ll brew Margot a good strong cup of tea,” she said. “Val, do you need–”
“No,” he said quickly. And then, not wanting to seem rude, “thank you.”
She nodded.
“Once Carmella checks in, we’ll leave you be,” she assured them. Not sure what else to do, Val sat on the bed. Margot sat next to him.
Joe prowled around both rooms before returning to stand near Lyra, apparently satisfied that there was no danger. Val found that unexpectedly comforting.
In a few minutes, Carmella arrived, carrying a bottle of brandy. Lyra took it from her and added a splash to Margot’s tea. The two of them briefly conferred in whispers while Joe brought the tea over and set it on the nightstand.
“Anything else we can get for you two, before we go?” Lyra asked as Joe joined them by the door.
Val shook his head. “Nothing. You’ve done more than enough. Thank you.”
Lyra held her hand out to Joe, who produced a card from his vest pocket. She plucked a pen from the desk, wrote something on the card, and tucked it under the edge of the brandy bottle.
“Now you know where to find us, if you do need anything,” she said.
“Those others are gone,” Carmella added. “I saw to it very thoroughly.” She grinned, teeth very white and sharp-looking though she did not have her fangs out.
“Thank you,” Val repeated, and he hoped they could tell that he was sincerely thankful, even though his voice just sounded tired, and at the moment he was just waiting for them to leave so he could– what? Beg Margot’s forgiveness? Go back to bed, though he would not sleep? Scream into the void?
“Rest well,” Joe told them, his deep voice making it a benediction, and then they slipped out the door.
“I’ll lock the door,” Val said by way of explaining why he was letting go of Margot’s hand. After that door, he checked the door in Margot’s room, too, but Joe had already locked it. He wished he hadn’t broken the lock on the inner door; Margot might want it more than ever now. But there was nothing he could do about that.
Margot hadn’t moved from the bed, though she had pulled one of the blankets up to wrap around her shoulders. He suddenly felt he should give her space, so he lingered just inside the room. Neither of them said anything. Maybe there was nothing to be said. He searched his thoughts and found there was only one question he needed to ask.
“Do you want to go home? We can leave once it’s dark. Or now, if you want. You can take the car and go now. I can get back on my own.”
She looked him in the eye for the first time since that moment downstairs, when she was still glamored. The difference now gave him a shock of relief. Her eyes were bright, alive, hers again. Her look of surprise wrinkled into one of concern.
“What about the bond?”
“We’ll figure something else out.”
She contemplated this, and Val felt his gut twist.
This is it, the moment she gives up on you.
He schooled his expression so his grief at the thought wouldn’t sway her.
“No,” she finally said, and he couldn’t help his smile of relief, though he quickly tamped it down. “Thank you, I appreciate it, but I want to see this through.” She paused, and then added, “I want us both to be free of this.”
The small spark of happiness that she wasn’t leaving snuffed out. Of course that was why she was staying. Not for him. To get her life back.
Which had always been what this was about, he reminded himself.
“Val.” The sound of his name somehow shocked him. He looked at her, and she was tilting her head at him.
“Will you come sit back down?” She patted the bed beside her. He stared at it like he had never seen a bed before.
“Are you sure?” he finally asked.
She nodded. “It’s weird, talking to you from so far away.”
He crossed the room and sat down near her, though not as close as he was before. A part of him hoped she’d pull him closer, but she didn’t. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, and sat thinking for a long moment before she spoke again.
“Have you ever been glamored?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t work on other vampires.”
“It’s strange.” Her voice cracked, and he wanted to sweep her up in his arms and promise it would never happen to her again. But he couldn’t promise that, and if she wanted to be closer, she would move closer.
“I was aware of everything, but couldn’t do anything. I was so scared, but it was like there was a layer of fog between me and the world. My emotions couldn’t get through. My voice, either. I was screaming and screaming, but making no sound.” She pulled the blanket tighter around her, her fists clenched where she held it. “I think it was worse than them kidnapping me like that, the fact that I couldn’t scream.”
Val opened his mouth to tell her to rest, that they could talk about it later, but a question suddenly occurred to him.
“Did you call out for me? Not out loud, but in your mind?”
She looked at him, frowning, but nodded.
“I heard you,” he whispered. “It’s what woke me up. Your voice, calling for me.”
She sucked in a breath.
“I heard you, too,” she replied softly. “When you said my name. Everything was muffled except for when he,” she spat the word ‘he’ out of her mouth, “would tell me to do something, but then when you said my name, I heard you. That’s when the fog started to clear. I could feel your anger, and I followed it out of the glamor.”
He hadn’t even stopped to think about how she had broken free.
“I can sometimes feel your feelings,” he said, so many emotions crowding in on him that he could barely get the words out, “because of the bond. I knew I could follow it to you. I didn’t know it could get so strong, or that you could feel mine, too.”
He glanced again at her hands, knuckles pale from how she was wrapping the blanket around herself.
“Your fear led me to you, and my anger led you out of the glamor.”
“If it hadn’t been for the bond, you never would have found me.” She was right. It had probably saved her life. But–
“If it hadn’t been for the bond, you wouldn’t have been here at all.”
She sighed. “There’s that sanguine attitude I’ve come to love.”
He rolled his eyes, because otherwise he was afraid of what his face would do; because he couldn’t stand the thrill of her teasing him; because she didn’t actually love him.
“Where did you get holy water?” he asked, in lieu of dealing with any of those emotions.
“Brought it with me. Got it before we left from the Catholic church near my place. One of my friends gave us all these little bottles of pepper spray on a chain, to wear like a necklace. I dumped out the pepper spray and replaced it with holy water.”
She paused for a moment. “It wasn’t for you,” she said, answering the question he hadn’t asked. “I just thought it couldn’t hurt to have some protection.”
“That was smart. Without it...” He trailed off, trying his best not to think of what might have happened. She reached out of the blanket to find his hand and hold it again.
They were quiet and still for a moment, and then she smiled.
“You know, I didn’t get to tell you because we got distracted kissing, and then fighting, and then I got kidnapped, and then you rescued me with help from two badass lady vamps and I’m pretty sure a werewolf, but... I thought of a great joke earlier.”
“A joke?”
She nodded, grinning. “Wanna hear it? It’s about a vampire car.”
This seemed like a very human and nonsensical way of coping but if she was smiling then he wanted it.
“Sure.”
“So there was this vampire who bought a new car. A Chevy Impala.”
She paused, as if waiting to see if he knew where this was going.
“Okay...” he prompted, and she grinned, already so satisfied with the punchline she hadn’t even landed yet.
“He named it Vlad.”
Without waiting for him to react, she cackled so hard she almost fell over.
“That,” he said, feeling slightly dizzy from effervescent hit of her laughter, “is a terrible joke.”
“What?!?” she gasped, sitting up straight with a pout on. “That’s an amazing joke. Vlad the Impala?? Absolutely classic.”
He shook his head, appalled at her taste in comedy and wondering if it was possible that listening to her laugh was better than kissing her. A solid tie, at least.
“If it’s such a bad joke, why are you smiling?” she demanded. Something about the smugness in her tone made a thought occur to him.
“Are you trying to make me feel better?” he asked, turning to her almost accusingly.
“Of course I am, dummy,” she replied, arching an eyebrow like the question made no sense. “You forget, I felt your emotions earlier, too.”
He got a flash of the way he’d felt, standing in that room, unable to help her. Furious. Panicked. Powerless. He felt himself blush at the memory.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” she crooned, reaching over to tousle his hair. “Feelings are good. Everyone has them.”
She dropped her hand, and he managed to resist begging she put it back. Barely.
She grew quiet and he looked over to see her considering him in that way she did.
“What is it?”
“I want to ask you something, but it’s not... I know you’ll be upset.”
“Is it important?”
She nodded.
“Then ask me.”
She fidgeted with the corner of the sheet, twisting it around her fingers.
“The person you killed, or the... the people, you killed...”
It was like the room suddenly dimmed. He didn’t want to talk with her about this. Not now. Not ever. But she’d said it was important, and he’d told her to ask, so he nodded, letting her know it was okay to go on.
“You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. It’s just, earlier, with those other vampires... They’re so different from you. And then there was Lyra and Carmella, and we don’t know them, but they didn’t seem like killers, and...”
She trailed off again, but he didn’t need her to say the rest. He knew what she was asking.
“I tried to accept it, when I was first turned,” he said. “The craving is so strong. And you should have others, a clan, to help. But for me...” He didn’t think he wanted to tell the whole story now. Couldn’t. “It was just Benedict and me. He taught me to hunt. I was good at it.”
He remembered even now the perfect delight of it. Some vampires, he knew, liked to scare a human, watch them run, chase them. But Benedict’s example had been one of smooth seduction, gentle catch and (usually) release. Most vampires didn’t kill their prey, especially these days. Too much trouble. Val had modified Benedict’s approach. He didn’t like being so overt.
“I was never cruel. I didn’t want them to suffer. I was kind when I interacted with humans, but I mostly didn’t. I’d lurk in the shadows. When someone caught my eye, I’d circle around them. I liked to take my time. Get to know them, without them knowing.”
Not unlike what he’d done to her. He swallowed the sick feeling in his throat and continued.
“When I fed... I didn’t take their memories. Didn’t glamor them. But for them, it would have been like dreaming. When I think of it now... I wish I hadn’t done it. Any of it. But it seemed like what I was supposed to do. And it went okay, for a while. But the better I got, the more I obsessed. The hunt was almost as good as the catch. Almost.”
Margot had gone very still beside him.
“There were two people. I– I killed two people. The first was–” he hesitated. It wasn’t true to say it was a mistake. He’d meant to do it. “I went too far. I knew I was going too far, but in the moment, I wanted it. I’d always stopped myself, but other vampires kept telling me it was in our nature. That it happened, sometimes, and was no big deal. Like breaking something after you’ve had too much wine. Like stepping on a bug that had invaded your space.”
Benedict, who was of the opinion that becoming a vampire had elevated him on the food chain, had once likened it to a human eating a steak. Val had not thought of steaks in the same way since.
“I cared about the humans, though, in my own way. So I didn’t consider it, not really. It was always just a thought, in the back of my mind. Something I wasn’t going to do. Until I did it.”
He still remembered the rush of ecstasy of that night. The release of indulging himself. And the sharp hollowness of awaking, and looking at what he’d done without the bloodlust coloring it. Of seeing her body beside him...
“After that, I swore I wouldn’t do it again. I stopped hunting altogether. I kept looking for ways to restrict myself, more layers between me and the world. I weaned myself off human blood. I bought a place – remote, hard to find – and hid away.”
He stopped. He wanted to look at her, to see how she was responding. But he was afraid if he did, he’d never finish the story. So he just continued talking.
“It was hard, getting off human blood, but I did it. Turned out I couldn’t do the same for human existence. It was the hunt I wanted, more than blood. I wanted that moment when the world narrows down to a single person’s heartbeat. I spent years waiting for the craving to die. It only got worse and worse. And then he came.”
He closed his eyes like that would stop the memory from coming, would stop him picturing every detail of the man’s face. It didn’t.
“I knew. I knew, and I should have left immediately. Just like how I knew with you. But I stayed, I told myself I could control it. He needed help, lost in the mountains, had injured his arm. I told myself it was just until he was healthy.”
He gritted his teeth against the bitter irony of that lie.
“I didn’t make it one night. I was so desperate. I broke, and he saw it, the moment I started to lose control. He was afraid, so he ran. I chased him. And I caught him.”
The memory of that night pulled him under, and he floundered, struggling towards the surface, but it was all around him. The man’s breath, his heartbeat, both so fast from running. Chill of the air on his skin because the night was cold, but underneath everything so hot. Hot and bright and alive, and he drank and drank, and he couldn’t stop even though he was screaming inside, screaming even louder than the man he was killing.
“Val,” and there were hands on his shoulders, shaking him, and he finally broke through the memory and looked up at Margot, hands clutching him, saying his name. She was too close.
He jerked back, scrambling towards the end of the bed.
“S-sorry,” he gasped out. She had gotten up on her knees, the blanket falling off of her, but now she sank back down, sitting on her ankles.
“What happened?” she asked. “It was like you disappeared inside yourself.”
He couldn’t answer for several seconds.
“The memory is... strong,” he finally said. “I never think about it. I got lost in it.”
She leaned forward, crawled towards him, and put her hand on his cheek. He froze.
“I’m pretty sure you’re always thinking about it,” she murmured. He wanted to ask her what she meant, but he couldn’t move, not even to speak. She seemed to realize, and let her hand drop, moving back to the head of the bed.
“When was it?” she asked.
“Winter of 1917.” He knew the exact date, but somehow saying it aloud felt impossible.
“And then what did you do?” Her voice was calm, neutral. She didn’t sound scared or angry or disgusted. There was almost a hint of apology, like she knew what she was asking of him. Or maybe he was imagining that.
“I went to England. It’s where Benedict was, at the time. I begged him to help me. He thought I was crazy, but in the end he did it. I set up a system, a routine. Made sure I was never hungry, and that the part of me that wants to hunt... I found a sort of balance. Like making a deal with it.”
“A deal with your demons,” she murmured, so low she probably thought he couldn’t hear. He saw the exact moment she put all the pieces together.
“That’s why you kept disappearing and then coming back,” she said. “I was your hunt.”
He wanted more than anything to turn away, but he made himself meet her eyes and nod.
“I wouldn’t have hurt you. I haven’t hurt anyone since him. I haven’t fed on anyone since him. You’d have never known I existed.”
“You would have watched, though. Just watched me, for... years? Until I died?”
He nodded again.
“I ruined it, though. Broke my routine. Got too close.”
“Why?”
The question hung in the air, heavy, as impossible to answer now as it had been when Benedict has asked him the same thing.
“I don’t know.” His voice broke a little as he said it.
She inhaled, a long deep breath, and then slowly let it out. Finally, she pushed down the covers and slipped her feet inside, wriggling down under them.
“Come on,” she said. “Go turn out the light and then let’s lie down for a while. We should rest, even if we can’t sleep. Big night tonight.”
He wasn’t sure what he’d been waiting for; some type of judgement, perhaps. For her to pronounce her verdict and tell him exactly how damned he was. He struggled to understand how to proceed without that.
“I could sleep in the other room,” he finally whispered. “If you’d be more comfortable–”
“I wouldn’t,” she said, already well snuggled under the covers, only the top of her head visible. He waited for her to elaborate but she didn’t, so he just did as she said, turning off the light and then getting into bed beside her.
The conversation had left him feeling too awake, memories too close to the surface, and he was sure between that, the distress of the past few hours, and the unease of lying so close to her, he’d never be able to sleep.
The bed was warm from her body, and the last thing he remembered before falling into a deep slumber was the way the heat curled around him like he belonged there.
