sat there a moment, her sniffing and him giving her an assessing look. "Well?" she demanded at last.
He paused. "Do you remember when I asked you if there was a way to make you stronger, whether you would take that risk?" She was starting to realize his accent wasn't quite the same as before. It was still vaguely British, but maybe something else as well.
She scoffed. "So what, this is what you meant? Turn me into a vampire? That makes no sense!" she shouted, and then cringed. The noise had hurt her ears.
"It is precisely what I meant. And it has made you much, much stronger," he pointed out.
"That's not the point," she growled. "I wanted to be stronger so I could hunt vampires."
He smiled slyly. "And so you shall."
"Wait. What? You turned me into a vampire so I could hunt vampires?"
"Yes, Tatiana. You had reached a point where you were close to your limits as a human. I don't think you realize the danger you were in, how close Etienne du Lac came to killing you," he brushed a hand over the ribs she had bruised, just below her breast. “If I hadn’t told him you would spare him if he gave you my name…”
"Don't touch me," she hissed, trying to squirm out of his grasp. To her surprise, he let her go. She sat on the floor opposite him, trying to think. He had set her up. Had set Etienne du Lac up, knowing she would kill him, just to make sure she got his name. He had planned all of this, just to get her here. "If that was what you wanted, why didn't you just ask me?"
"I did ask you," he argued.
"No you didn't. You know what I mean."
He licked his lips thoughtfully. "If I had asked you if you wanted to become a vampire, would you have said yes?"
"Of course not!" she spat.
Seth shrugged, an elegant gesture on him. "And that is why I did not ask in that manner."
Tanya buried her face in her hands, at a loss as to how to deal with this lunatic.
"Come," Seth stood and held out a hand to her. "It's almost sunrise, you must be tired."
To her surprise, she was. She hadn't been a moment ago, but now, with all the adrenaline draining from her system, she was exhausted. She glared at his hand and carefully picked herself up off the floor, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
He pressed his lips together. "Suit yourself. Follow me." He turned to lead her towards a black metal staircase. As they went up it, she looked around the place they were in.
It looks like one of those posh apartments they build in gutted old warehouses, except without the big plate-glass windows, she thought. Without any windows, actually. Makes sense.
"You will be staying here," he gestured to a door as they approached it. "I hope you will be comfortable." Seth unlocked the door with a key, let it swing open, and stepped back.
She took a step forward. Inside was a perfect replica of her apartment bedroom. She walked in, and looked around, amazed and slightly freaked at the tiniest details he had recreated, right down to the rings of water damage on her bedside table. The colors were a bit off, everything was a little too saturated, but otherwise she might have been back in Missouri. Taking a breath to speak, she paused a moment.
"What is that smell?" she asked, putting a hand over her nose and mouth.
He poked his head in the door cautiously, almost like he didn't want to invade her privacy. As if, she thought sarcastically.
After a moment, he smiled a little. "That, my dear, would be you. Or at least you when you were human. Naturally, your things still smell like that, although the scent will fade with time and use." His voice was a little melancholy, and he closed his eyes to take a deep breath. "I think I shall miss it."
Tanya stared around, now truly freaked out. These were not replicas of her things, they were hers, somehow transported from her locked and deadbolted apartment. "How the hell did you get my stuff?" she demanded.
He shrugged and smirked. "I can be very persuasive."
Glaring at him, she moved around, touching things. The soft fabric of a T-shirt, the slightly sticky surface of the bedside table. She opened a dresser drawer and found the box with her keepsakes in it, Ettienne's necklace on top.
The smell seemed more familiar to her now, reminding her of homecomings after a long hunting trip, only multiplied. It brought back long forgotten memories.
Nana had died when Tanya was twelve. Since she'd never married or had children of her own, her will had specified that Tanya should get "first pick" of the things in her home. She could remember walking through the rooms, unable to believe that her Nana wouldn't come back tomorrow. She picked things only from her bedroom: a beautiful old vanity set, the crazy quilt from her bed, and a bookshelf full of wonderful old books. She couldn't read half of them because they were in Russian, but they smelled like Nana and sometimes she would take one out and just flip through the pages to remember.
Sinking onto her bed, Tanya ran her hand over the old threadbare quilt, and suddenly she was fascinated by the swirling patterns of color and texture. She sat down and began smoothing her hands all over it, her breath speeding up as she started overloading again.
"Careful," Seth warned, snatching up her hands. "Close your eyes, and just touch," he instructed.
Slightly panicked, she did as he suggested, and he let her hands fall back to the quilt. "Slowly," he advised. She drew her hands down the quilt, marveling at the variety of textures.
"Now," his voice took on a mesmerizing tone. "Open your eyes and look at them, one at a time."
Tanya did so, recognizing old jeans, a sundress, pieces of her mother's wedding gown, an old pillow.
"Now try to smell, and sort out each scent."
Lowering her head, she breathed in deeply, searching for the smell she knew should be there, the softness of lilacs that Nana had always had about her. She caught a faint whiff, old and stale, but there was something else overpowering it. She tilted her head to the side, frowning.
"What is it, Tatiana?" he asked softly. She hadn't noticed that he had sat on the opposite edge of her bed, his hand trailing over the quilt. It kicked her right out of the trance she was in.
"Out," she said firmly. When he didn't budge, she tried to reach out and shove him, overshooting and landing on the floor in an unorganized heap. "Get out of my room!" she shouted.
He stood, looking like he wasn't sure what she meant.
"GET OUT!" she screamed, and then clapped her hands over her ears.
"Of course," he said stiffly, and left, closing the door behind him quietly as if nothing had happened.
Picking herself up carefully, Tanya stood and began to ransack her things for the source of the out-of-place smell. It was as if her entire room had been mysteriously transported to this prison; every last thing was exactly where she had left it. As she drew closer, the scent growing stronger, she began to realize what it might be. Opening the bottom drawer of her vanity, she found a bottle of perfume. She removed the cap, and suddenly the noxious fumes filled the air, making
