Dark Angel; The Chosen; Soulmate (47 page)

Hannah—

It was the closest thing to a mental gasp Hannah could imagine, and with it she realized that somehow they were directly connected now. He could hear her thoughts, just as she could hear his.

Good! she thought, not wasting time to marvel over this. Her mind was raging on.

You were my flying companion! My playmate! You were my other half of the mysteries! We were supposed to be sacred to each other—
and you haven't been there
!

This last thought she sent squarely toward him. And she felt it hit him, and felt his reaction.

“I've
tried
!”

He was horrified… guilt-stricken. But then, Hannah could sense that this was pretty much the usual state for him, so it didn't affect him quite as much as it might have someone else. And beneath the horror was an astonishment and burgeoning joy that sent a different kind of tingle through her.

“You
do
know me, don't you?” he said quietly. He pushed her back to look at her, as if he still couldn't believe it. “You remember… Hannah, how much do you remember?”

Hannah was looking at him, studying him…. Yes, I know that bone structure. And the eyes, especially the eyes. It was like an adopted child discovering a brother or sister and seeing familiar features in an unfamiliar face, tracing each one with wonder and recognition.

“I remember… that we were meant for each other. That we're”—she came up with the word slowly—“
soulmates.
”

“Yes,” he whispered. Awe was softening his features, changing his eyes. The desperate sadness that seemed so much a part of them was lightening. “Soulmates. We were destined for each other. We should have been together down the ages.”

They were supporting each other now, Hannah kneeling on the porch and Thierry holding her with one knee on a step. Their faces were inches apart. Hannah found herself watching his mouth.

“So what happened?” she whispered.

In the same tone, without moving back, he whispered, “I screwed up.”

“Oh.”

Her initial fury had faded. She could
feel
him, feel his emotions, sense his thoughts. He was as anguished at their separation as she was. He wanted her. He loved her… adored her. He thought of her the way poets think of the moon and the stars—in ridiculous hyperbole. He actually saw her surrounded by a sort of silvery halo.

Which was completely silly, but if he wanted to think of her that way—well, Hannah wouldn't object. It made her want to be very gentle with him.

And right now she could feel his warm breath. If she leaned forward just an inch her top lip would touch his bottom lip.

Hannah leaned forward.

“Wait—” he said.

That was a mistake, saying it out loud. It moved his lips against hers, turning it from a touch into a kiss.

And then, for a while, neither of them could resist. They needed each other so desperately, and the kiss was warm and sweet. Hannah was flooded with love and comfort and joy.

This was meant to be.

Hannah was dizzy but still capable of thought. I knew life had something wonderful and mysterious to give me. Something I could sense but not see, something that was always just out of reach.

And here it is. I'm one of the lucky ones—I've found it.

Thierry wasn't as articulate. All she could hear him think was,
Yes.

Hannah had never been so filled with gratitude. Love spilled from her and into Thierry and back again. The more she gave, the more she got back. It was a cycle, taking them higher and higher.

Like flying, Hannah thought. She wasn't dizzy anymore. She was strangely clear and calm, as if she were standing on a
mountaintop. Infinite tenderness… infinite belonging. It was so good it hurt.

And it made her want to give more.

She knew what she wanted. It was what she'd tried to give him the first time, when she knew he would die without her. She'd wanted to give him what all women could give.

Life.

She was only a girl now, not ready for the responsibilities that would come with making new life from her body. But she could give Thierry life another way.

She pulled back to look at him, to see bruised dark eyes filled with aching tenderness. Then she touched his mouth with her fingertips.

He kissed them. Hannah ignored the kiss and poked a finger in.

Shock flared in Thierry's eyes.

There. That was it. The long canine tooth, just barely sharp. Not yet the tooth of a predator, of a fox or a lynx or wolf. She ran her finger against it.

The shock turned to something else. A glazed look. Need mixed with pure terror.

Thierry whispered, “Don't—Hannah, please. You don't know—”

Hannah tested the tip of the tooth with her thumb. Yes, it was sharper now. Longer, more delicate. It would look like the
tooth of an arctic fox in her palm—milky-white, translucent, elegantly curved.

Thierry's chest was heaving. “Please stop. I—I can't—”

Hannah was enthralled. I don't know why people are afraid of vampires, she thought. A human could tease or torture a vampire this way, driving him insane—if she were cruel.

Or she could choose to be kind.

Very gently, Hannah reached with her other hand. She touched the back of Thierry's neck, bringing just the slightest pressure to bear. But he was so obedient to her touch—it was easy to guide his mouth to her throat.

Hannah…

She could feel him trembling.

Don't be afraid,
she told him silently. And she pulled him closer.

He grabbed her shoulders to push her away—and then just hung on. Clinging desperately, helplessly. Kissing her neck over and over. She felt his control break… and then felt the sharpness of teeth.

It wasn't like pain. It was like the tenderness, a hurting that was good.

And then… devastating bliss.

Not a physical feeling. It was emotional. They were completely together, and light poured through them.

How many lives together have we missed? How many
times have I had to say, Maybe in the next life? How did we ever manage to come apart?

It was as if her question went searching through both their minds, soaring and diving, looking for an answer on its own. And Thierry didn't put up any resistance. She knew that he couldn't; he was as caught up as she was in what was happening between them, as overwhelmed.

There was nothing to stop her from finding the answer.

This revelation didn't come all in one blinding illumination. Instead it came in small flashes, each almost too brief to understand.

Flash. Thierry's face above her. Not the gentle face she had seen by the porch. A savage face with an animal light in the eyes. A snarling mouth… and teeth red with blood.

No…

Flash. Pain. Teeth that tore her throat. The feel of her blood spilling warm over her neck. Darkness coming.

Oh, God, no…

Flash. A different face. A woman with black hair and eyes full of concern. “Don't you know? He's evil. How many times does he have to kill you before you realize that?”

No, no, no, no…

But saying no didn't change anything.

It was the truth. She was seeing her own memories—seeing things that had really happened. She
knew
that.

He'd killed her.

Hannah, no—

It was a cry of anguish. Hannah wrenched herself away. She could see the shock in Thierry's eyes, she could feel him shaking.

“You really did it,” she whispered.

“Hannah—”

“That's why you woke me up from the hypnosis! You didn't want me to remember! You knew I'd find out the truth!” Hannah was beside herself with grief and anger. If she hadn't trusted him, if everything hadn't been so perfect, she wouldn't have felt so betrayed. As it was, it was the greatest betrayal of her life—of all her lives.

It had all been a lie—everything she'd just been feeling. The togetherness, the love, the joy… all false.

“Hannah, that wasn't the reason….”

“You're evil! You're a killer!” She told me, Hannah thought. The woman with black hair; she told me the truth. Why didn't I remember her? Why didn't I listen this time?

She could remember other things now, other things the woman had said. “He's unbelievably cunning… he'll try to trick you. He'll try to use mind control…”

Mind control. Influencing her. He'd
admitted
that.

And what she'd been feeling tonight was some sort of trick. He'd managed to play on her emotions… God, he'd even gotten her to offer him her blood. She'd let him
bite
her, drink from her like some parasite….

“I hate you,” she whispered.

She saw how that hurt him; he flinched and looked away, stricken. Then he gripped her shoulders again, his voice soft. “Hannah, I wanted to explain to you. Please. You don't understand everything…”

“Yes, I do! I
do
! I remember everything! And I understand what you really are.” Her voice was as quiet as his, but much more intense. She shrugged her shoulders and shifted backward to get away from him. She didn't want to feel his hands on her.

He looked jolted. Unbelieving. “You remember… everything?”

“Everything.” Hannah was proud and cold now. “So you can just go away, because whatever you've got planned won't work. Whatever—tricks—you were going to use…” She shook her head. “Just go.”

For just a second, a strange expression crossed Thierry's face. An expression so tragic and lonely that Hannah's throat closed.

But she couldn't let herself soften. She couldn't give him a chance to trick her again.

“Just stay away from me,” she said. With all the confusion and turmoil inside her, that was the only thing she could keep clear in her mind. “I never want to see you again.”

He had gotten control of himself. He looked shell-shocked but his eyes were steady. “I've never wanted to hurt you,” he
said quietly. “And all I want to do now is protect you. But if that's what you want, I'll go away.”

How could he claim he'd never wanted to hurt her? Didn't killing her count? “That
is
what I want. And I don't need your protection.”

“You have it anyway,” he said.

And then he moved, faster than she could ever hope to move, almost faster than thought. In an instant, he was close to her. His fingers touched her left cheek, light as a moth's wings. And then he was taking her hand, slipping something on her finger.

“Wear this,” he said, no louder than a breath. “It has spells to protect you. And even without the spells, there aren't many Night People who'll harm you if they see it.”

Hannah opened her mouth to say she wasn't afraid of any Night People except him, but he was still speaking. “Try not to go out alone, especially at night.”

And then he was gone.

Like that. He was off her porch and out somewhere in the darkness, not even a shadow, just
gone.
If she hadn't had a fleeting impression of movement toward the prairie, she would have thought he had the ability to become invisible at a moment's notice.

And her heart was pounding, hurting, filling her throat so she couldn't breathe.

Why had he touched her cheek? Most people didn't touch
the birthmark; they treated it like a bruise that might still hurt. But his fingers hadn't avoided it. The caress had been gentle, almost sad, but not frightened.

And why was she still standing here, staring into the darkness as if she expected him to reappear?

Go
inside,
idiot.

Hannah turned and fumbled with the back door, pulling at the knob as if she'd never opened it before. She shut the door and locked it, and again she found herself as clumsy as if she'd never worked a lock or seen this one in her life.

She was beyond screaming or crying, in a state of shock that was almost dreamlike. The house was too bright. The clock on the kitchen wall was too loud. She had the distracted feeling that it wasn't either night or daytime.

It was like coming out of a theater and being surprised to find that it's still light outside. She felt that this couldn't be the same house she'd left an hour ago.
She
wasn't the same person who had left. Everything around her seemed like some carefully staged movie set that was supposed to be real, but wasn't, and only she could tell the difference.

I feel like a stranger here, she thought, putting one hand to her neck where she could just detect two little puncture marks. Oh, God, how am I ever going to know what's real again?

But I should be happy; I should be grateful. I probably just saved my own life out there. I was alone with a vicious, evil, murderous monster, and…

Somehow the thought died away. She couldn't be happy and she didn't want to think about how evil Thierry was. She felt hollow and aching.

It wasn't until she stumbled into her own bedroom that she remembered to look down at her right hand.

On the fourth finger was a ring. It was made of gold and either white gold or silver. It was shaped like a rose, with the stem twining around the finger and back on itself in an intricate knot. The blossom was inset with tiny stones—black transparent stones. Black diamonds? Hannah wondered.

It was beautiful. The craftsmanship was exquisite. Every delicate leaf and tiny thorn was perfect. But a black flower?

It's a symbol of the Night World, her mind told her. A symbol of people who've been made into vampires.

It was the cool wind voice back again. At least she understood what it was saying this time—the last time, when it had given her advice about silver and wolves, she had been completely confused.

Thierry wanted her to wear the ring; he claimed it would protect her. But knowing him, it was probably another trick. If it had any spells on it, they were probably spells to help him control her mind.