“I love you, Vlad,” she whispered. “I never wanted to. But I do.”
He didn’t know how to respond to such a declaration. It shocked him. He’d hoped, secretly, that she still harbored feelings for him, because it would make doing what he had to do easier if he could do it with her cooperation. But he’d never imagined those feelings could be so intense, especially since he’d erased her memory of the time they had spent together.
She rolled onto her side and relaxed as he gently urged her mind into an even deeper sleep, a dreamless, restful sleep.
He rose then, went into the bathroom, washed his hands of her scent, her essence, with no little rush of regret, and then splashed cold water onto his face.
He hadn’t intended what had just happened between them. And yet, he’d learned far more than he’d ever hoped to learn. He knew now that she wasn’t working for the Sisterhood of Athena—not really. She didn’t know anything about them, didn’t trust them any more than he did. He knew that she hadn’t stolen the ring. But she intended to find the ring and destroy it, and he knew why. She feared that ring—feared wearing it would be the death of her soul, and would result in her body being surrendered to an intruder.
And so it would.
And he’d learned that she loved him. Tempest loved him, and it hurt her to believe that he didn’t love her in return. That he would choose Elisabeta over her. Even if it meant her life.
Above all else, he’d learned something more vital than anything else. Tempest believed herself immune to invasion from Elisabeta in her dreams. But she was wrong. Elisabeta had been there. She’d heard, felt, experienced, all of it. He’d felt her there. Why she hadn’t come into full control, he didn’t know. It might be that she was too weak after so much time. Or it might be that she was waiting, listening, trying to learn the same things he was. Who had the ring and how to obtain it.
He could visit her as often as he liked. He could make love to them both, Tempest and Elisabeta, if only in dreams.
Was it wrong to visit Tempest’s body this way? Probably. But it wasn’t against her will—he knew her will, could sense it in her mind. But the will to make love to a vampire in her dreams might not be the same as it would be in her waking state.
Did he give a damn if what he was doing was right or not? Gods knew he’d done worse things in the centuries he’d been alive. And if this was the only way he could have her, so be it.
He knew he would return—night after night if he could manage it. He was like an addict craving a drug, and having found a font of it, endless and undefended, he couldn’t do less than take his fill.
Especially being fully aware just how little time remained. Four days. Four short nights until the Red Star of Destiny eclipsed Venus. And then they would both die.
Beyond the physical pleasure he would give, and eventually receive, as well—yes, why the hell not? Beyond those things, he would be able to keep himself fully apprised of Tempest’s progress and her interactions with the Athena group.
He returned to the bedroom, leaned over her and whispered in her ear, “Remember me only as a dream, Tempest. Remember and know you will dream of me again. From now on, beautiful Tempest, your nights, and your will, belong to me.”
“Don’t go,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me again.”
He leaned closer, pressed his mouth to hers, kissed her softly, deeply, and wished for more. And more. He had to leave. He had to find a victim, feed on hot, rich blood, before his will failed him and he took hers instead.
That would make him vulnerable to her. It would strengthen the already powerful bond and create a weakness in him. One that might make him falter in the things he needed to do.
And he could not falter. He had to move forward with his plan or all would be lost.
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