would eat him alive, this helplessness at not being able to help his sister. He’d crossed the desert based on a rumor of a cure to save his sister from a fate that was universally accepted as a natural, inevitable consequence. She just wished he’d fought against nature so thoroughly for her. Resisting him, not helping him—he would hate her for that.
And then he’d leave. And then maybe she could go back to her not-so-normal life.
She turned her back on him and walked toward her living room.
Lucien grasped her arm, turning her and forcing her up against the wall. His eyes were blazing red, his nostrils flared.
“Do you really hate me so much?” he yelled, the rage almost tangible. “Are you willing to let an innocent person die because of this petty, spiteful hate of yours?”
Her eyes widened as her anger coursed through her at his words that hit just a little too close to home. “Innocent? Your sister is a vampire, Lucien. She lost any dregs of innocence centuries ago. Petty? Spiteful? My family died. I died. Forgive me if that detail seems so trivial to you.”
“Damn you, help me save my sister!”
She saw his muscles bunch, heard the thunk as his fist hit the wall, felt the wall shudder under the impact. She raised her chin. “Or what, Lucien? You’ll beat me to a pulp? Maybe bite me a bit? That’s what you vampires like to do, isn’t it? Take little bites to torment and drain your victims? Or do you want to kill me?” She laughed as he blanched and stepped away from her. “Honestly, if you could figure out a way to do it, I’d be thankful. I’ve tried a few things and nothing has stuck.”
He blinked as he backed up. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you can’t do anything to me I haven’t already tried.” She yanked off her gloves and held up her wrists, twisting them outward to show him the smooth skin. “See, I don’t even scar now. Drowning? Well, that doesn’t work, either. And electrocution stings, but the hangover when you come to isn’t worth it.”
His frown deepened. “You’ve...you’ve tried to kill yourself?”
His words were a little breathless, as though she’d punched him in the stomach. He was the first person she’d admitted that to, although why, she had no idea.
She shrugged. “Doesn’t count if it doesn’t work,” she muttered. She eyed him as he turned away briefly from her, his hand rising to rub his chin.
“Why—” he cleared his throat “—why would you do that?” He turned to her, his expression pained.
She gave a sad sigh that sounded like a dying violin. “I have no one, Lucien. My mom, my dad... There is nobody left. Every night I come home to an empty house. There are no Christmases or birthdays. Anyone who once knew me, once cared about me, is long gone. I have no...” She swallowed. “I have no one.” The last words came out in a whisper and she had to blink to fight back the burn in her eyes. God, she sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.
He reached for her but stopped midway and turned, his shoulders taut. He stood still for a moment and she desperately wanted to see his face, desperately wanted a clue as to what was going on inside his head—although she’d never had much luck reading the man. He reached in and pulled an object out of his pocket. His face looked ravaged by emotion as he gently pressed the book against her chest, forcing her to clasp it.
“That’s not true, Natalie,” he murmured, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that made her lower her stare. “You had me.”
He walked through her living room to her front door and she glanced down at the book she held. She barely registered the sound of her front door opening and closing. Her breath caught as she recognized the dark red hardcover and embossed cursive font on the cover. Her old book of poetry from the Romantic era. Tears swam in her eyes, blurring her vision, but her hands clasped the tome tightly. He still had it, still carried it with him. She’d given it to him that last night, all dramatic and fanciful as only a nineteen-year-old girl with a massive crush could be. He’d just told her she was his greatest friend, and that he had to leave—for business. She should have just painted a bright red L on her forehead for loser. But no, she’d thought perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance there could be more between them, and she’d pressed it into his hands.
Carry this with you and think of me when you read it, she’d told him. He’d smiled and hugged her close, and she’d hugged him back, cherishing the moment of being held in his arms just one more time.
And then he’d left and she hadn’t seen him until yesterday. She hefted the book in her hands. She couldn’t believe he still carried it with him. All these years...
Had he read it and thought of her? Had he actually missed her, maybe? She closed her eyes and held the book close to her chest and inhaled. The book carried faint traces of his scent, as well as the slight musk of years gone past.
“Puhleeze. Would you rather hug a book or that beautiful man?” A feminine voice sighed and Natalie jerked, her eyes popping open in surprise.
A young girl sat on the arm of a sofa, swinging her legs and popping gum. She wore a navy sweater, plaid skirt and long white socks. Her hair was pulled back in a curly ponytail. She frowned when she met Natalie’s eyes. “Oh, my God. You can see me?”
* * *
Lucien halted at Natalie’s front gate. A black BMW sedan was parked across the road, the windows tinted dark with tempered glass. Another vampire. The back passenger’s window slid down and he sighed when recognized the vampire. He schooled his features as he crossed the road to greet his father. He didn’t want Vincent Marchetta to see how devastated and shocked he was. Exposing that depth of vulnerability was a recipe for prolonged punishment from his sire. He should know; he’d modeled his own behavior on the man.
He braced his hand on the roof of the car. “What are you doing here?” he asked without preamble.
Vincent sat back in the seat, his face all dark and brooding in the moonlight.
“I would ask you the same question,” his father responded, his expression closed.
“I need to track down a lead.”
His father snorted. “I can’t believe you bought into this fairy tale,” he snapped.
Lucien ignored his father’s contempt. He’d grown adept at doing it. He focused instead on the man’s words. “I’m not sure if I’ve totally bought into it,” he said, “but if there is a chance we can save Viv, then I’ll do everything in my power to do so.”
“So you go off gallivanting again while a member of your family lies dying,” Vincent snarled.
Lucien’s arm muscles tightened on the roof of the car for a moment. His father’s words were full of anger, condemnation and something darker that Lucien didn’t want to put a name to. They called up gruesome memories and pain—so much pain. And guilt. Shame. Anger. He shoved the tumultuous emotions behind a cold curtain of composure. He flexed his fingers on the smooth surface of the car and straightened.
“I didn’t do this to her, Dad,” he said quietly, gazing down the street. “I intend to save her.”
“Well, we all know where your good intentions get people,” his father muttered.
Lucien
