Kiss Me Deadly (11 page)

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Let me guess. You like to take out any vampire you lay eyes on, right?”

“It’s what I do.”

“Right. Because, what…? A vampire harmed someone you loved?”

He was prying, and Ravin didn’t like the way her heart speeded up and the warmth behind her eyes threatened tears. Some buttons were not meant to be pushed.

“Your lover?” he tried. “Some vampire take him out—”

“No.” She looked away.

“Your village? An attack by night, torches blazing and fangs flashing,” Nikolaus confirmed, a little too dramatically for her sensitivity. “I didn’t think the older vamps organized for hunts, most are loners nowadays, but—”

“My parents, all right? Three vampires killed my parents.”

And get the hell out of my life, she thought. The torture was that she was sitting here naked alongside the very creature she despised, and yet she couldn’t imagine not being here at this moment, with this man.

Because he’d touched something inside her, some deep buried part of her that was thoroughly enjoying its freedom.

“I’m sorry, sweetness.” He lay before her, trying to capture her gaze. “It’s gotta hurt to lose your parents. I can’t say I can relate since both of mine are still alive.”

“You’re very lucky. I lost mine when I was ten. Not a lot of time to know the people who brought you into this world, but more than enough to know love.”

“Do you want to tell me about it? Will you?”

In two centuries, Ravin had never been questioned about her past. After her parents were murdered she’d gone to live with her aunts; they had trained her in earth magic, and set her free after her ascension ceremony on her eighteenth birthday. Living the life she led did not make for personal conversations over coffee with the girlfriends. And there was no such thing as a witch shrink.

Even now the ache of their murders burned brightly within her. Almost as if she could clasp her fingers about it and draw it out into the light to display on her palm.

Is that why it’s so easy to ignore the misbalance within you? You’ve got to start making changes.

“Ravin?”

Nikolaus stroked her hair. It felt good, calming, reassuring. A change did need to be made. Like confiding in someone? Opening her heart?

Do it. You want to lay it out on your palm
. It could be a start to tilting the balance back toward the light.

Ravin drew a breath in through her nose and said, “I was only ten when they were murdered by your sort.”

“
My
sort? The big bad vampires, I presume?”

“Nikolaus.” Perhaps he hadn’t the capacity to simply listen to her. “Forget it.”

“No, Ravin, I’m sorry.” He kissed her thigh and slid his palm along her leg. “I’ll listen.”

Dare she expose herself to him like this? “I’m trying. It’s just a lot to get over.”

Twisting, Ravin reached for the box and placed it on Nikolaus’s lap. It had been carved by her grandfather and tanned and stained and shaped into a bridal gift for his bride. Ravin’s grandmother had cherished the box. She’d kept an acorn in it from the first tree she and her husband had planted. And a clear uncut ruby; the bride price her husband had paid for her hand.

The acorn and ruby were gone. But inside lived Ravin’s world. A world that belonged only to her. A world both painful and joyous.

“You can look. It’s all that I have. All that I value.”

He touched the leather surface, tracing his fingers over the elaborate working of the Crosse family crest. On a quartered shield were her mother’s family crest of moon and stars, and in the opposite corners, her father’s scythe, which signified his farming history.

“You sure?” Nikolaus prompted. “I don’t need to—”

“Please. I want you to.”

W
hen he removed the cover, the smell of musty nutmeg filled Ravin’s nostrils with lush memory. She loved the smell because it reminded her of the good times, so very long ago—before it all became bad.

Mornings spent feeding the goats and plucking still-warm eggs from the henhouse. And later, bringing her father an afternoon repast in the fields he worked relentlessly to support his family. Evenings were spent watching her mother scrye and practicing a few movement spells.

The Crosses had not been rich, but they’d had enough. And that her parents were always kissing and smiling made Ravin understand, at a young age, how rich love could be.

Nikolaus gave her a wondering glance before touching the objects inside. Carefully, he poked the small blue square, then ran his forefinger along it.

“Small pieces of fabric?” He lifted the box to give the contents a sniff. “You’ve quite the collection.”

“Accrued over the centuries. Pockets,” she said. “That one belonged to my mother. I keep it on top because it was the first I obtained. There’s nine in total.”

“A pocket. Huh. It’s a wonder what people consider treasure. It’s very old. I shouldn’t handle it.”

“I save them. They are fond memories of those I have loved.”

Ravin took the box and carefully drew out the pocket, holding it flat on her palm. It was wool and dyed a bright wode blue. It had faded little over the years and the edges had barely frayed. She liked to believe the lack of disintegration was due to her mother’s magic, still imbued within the threads.

“I ripped this from my mother’s dress before the flames could get to it. It was the first night of winter, a bitter cold December evening that had cut frost onto the glass scrying ball my mother kept on a shelf near the door, far from the hearth.”

“Where did you live?”

“I’m from a village in Bulgaria, about three leagues from the Black Sea. We lived in a cottage, set in the center of a vast forest the Crosse family had owned for centuries. The village is no longer there. Vampires destroyed the population within a month following the attack on my family.”

She sensed from his movements Nikolaus had become uncomfortable, but he remained close to her, intent in his silence, so Ravin continued.

“We had eaten and were cleaning the dishes when the pounding at the front door sounded. My father, kind and inquisitive, called out “Enter” even as my mother grabbed me and rushed me toward the bedroom just off the main living quarters. She pushed me under the high tester bed, hissing at me to stay out of sight. She knew. And I knew the moment I looked into her eyes and saw the fear. I’d never before seen fear in my mother’s eyes. I think that frightened me more than initially seeing the intruders.”

Nikolaus smoothed his forefinger over the wool pocket, still laid flat on her palm. He didn’t speak, yet Ravin could sense his presence holding her, supporting her. It felt tremendous.

“There were three of them. Big, like you, with blood smeared across their faces and necks. They killed my father first, who was mortal, not a witch, by drinking from him until he begged for mercy. They didn’t give him any. He was a strong man—but no match for vampires—and he was quickly dispatched, his neck broken, and the beasts feeding on him like animals.

“When they dropped my father to the floor, I had to hold my hands over my mouth not to cry out. From my position under the bed I could see everything clearly, and I shook like oak leaves in a midnight storm. My father’s throat had been torn open to show the muscles, and blood poured from his face and mouth and over his chest where I believe the vampires tapped right into his heart.

“I bit into my fingers to staunch my horror. I can still remember tasting my own blood, and being startled that it was so alien. Like dusty pennies—the taste of pain.”

Nikolaus clasped her free hand and looked into her eyes. What Ravin saw there startled her. Compassion. It was such an unexpected expression to see on a vampire’s face. Especially now, when relating the horrors of her childhood.

He didn’t speak, and she couldn’t stop. She’d never told anyone this. And the words wanted to be put to voice.

“The only way to kill a witch, as I’m sure you know, is to burn her. The vampires wrangled mother’s hands behind her back and tied a leather strap across her mouth. No way to scratch herself, or spit blood at her attackers. Then, they lit her skirts on fire, and one of them punched her out cold. She dropped to the floor, tinder for the flame, and the vampires left.

“I laid and watched the flames begin to consume my mother’s body, her hair, the hem of her skirt. The tiny stitches on her gray stockings melted and burned flesh became the prevalent smell. She…she did not cry out.”

A shudder in her throat sifted out abbreviated breaths. But Ravin would not cry, she could not.

“I feared the vampires were standing outside, waiting for me to reveal I’d been hiding. But when I could bear it no longer, I crawled out and crouched over my mother. I was horrified. I screamed and wailed, but nothing could stop the fire that had now ignited the floorboards. It didn’t occur to me to try to stomp out the flames. Reaching for my mother, I grabbed her pocket and tore it away.”

Ravin stroked the pocket aside her cheek. “I was alone after that. I had no home, no parents, and only my unpracticed magic to get by. It was days before one of my aunts arrived from Paris and begrudgingly packed me away with her. She wasn’t cruel to me, but I never knew love again, after the night of the horror.”

Breathing out through her nose, Ravin closed her eyes, wishing away the visions of fire and of silent screams. She’d seen it so many times. Had woken some nights, her skin blistered with invisible flames. There was but one way to push it all away, to tame the ache.

“One thing I vowed that day was no vampire would ever look me in the eye and live.”

Drawing up, Nikolaus looked her straight in the eye. Challenging her? It was different with him; she did not count him as the enemy. Not now that she’d gotten to know him better. And yet, he defied her with his sapphire stare, cutting through her pain and poking at her heart with his daring.

Ravin looked away. “I meant it.”

“Even now?”

She nodded. “It is what I am, Nikolaus. You wondered why I attacked your tribe that night? It is because you exist. You are what I hate.”

“No—”

“And I am what you hate. Will you ever recognize me for what I am?”

“You’re my lover, sweetness. A woman who has had a hell of a time, and wears an armor of protection against her past.”

“It’s not just the past. Vampires are everywhere. I never wanted to be like this. It’s not something I’ve thought about. It’s just…who I am.”

“The death of your parents is a tragedy, and I mean it. But our lives are constructed of the choices we make, Ravin. We are never forced into anything.”

“Really? So you
asked
to become a vampire?”

“No, I was attacked. But I had a choice. I could have ended it then and there that night, destroying a future I had not chosen.”

“I know it was a choice,” she said. “To slay. To take revenge. I never said I regret it.”

“No, but that was three vampires.”

“Three demonic, evil, hateful vampires.”

“And in turn, as a means to your revenge, how many vampires have you slain? Dozens?”

“Hundreds.”

He sighed and nodded. The tension in his jaw pulsed twice. “Two centuries is a long time to hold a grudge. All that anger must consume you. Eats into your soul.”

Ravin tucked her head between her arm and her knee. The pocket she pressed against her forehead. He had no idea what she had done with her very soul.

“Now, I know it’s tough,” he went on, “but that was two people. My God, your parents. They meant the world to you, I understand that. But how long are you going to make the entire vampire nation suffer for something three bad vampires did to you?”

“What do you care?”

“I care because I love you. All I’m trying to say is, don’t you think it’s about time to let it go?”

“I think it’s time for you to leave.”

He wouldn’t be pushed from her lap, so Ravin slid off the bed and marched away.

Damn it! She’d opened herself to him, only to be ridiculed for a choice that had never consciously been hers. To slay vampires? It had just
become
her. She would have never chosen a path of violence had it not been forced upon her. Who would?

Nikolaus was wrong. Sometimes a person was not given a choice. How could he believe he had not had the choice stolen from him that night he was transformed against his will?

“It’s all right,” Nikolaus said. “You keep your anger. It’s obviously gotten you through the centuries.”

“And what about yours, vampire?” Ravin challenged.

“My what? Anger?”

“You’re full of it, Nikolaus. You claim peace, but you came to me with one intention.”

A tilt of his head shook the hair over his shoulder. “That I did. And you, the mistress of revenge, can’t understand why I wanted revenge for my near death?”

“I understand it completely. And yet, here you are, making love to the object of your revenge.”

“I can’t stop myself,” he said, his jaw tightening. Too quickly his fingers splayed out before him. But she had seen that they’d tightened into a fist.

Was there a flash of the heartless vampire inside him that hated her so much? Could it be summoned? The man was of
the dark
. He could never stand above the call to darkness, no matter how he tried to deny it.

She took Nikolaus’s hand, and placed it over her heart. “Vampire, take your revenge.”

“No!” He sat up and put his feet to the floor. “Spell or not, I don’t need it, witch. Vengeance doesn’t feel right anymore. I cannot comprehend why it consumed me so before, but now…I just need peace.”

“Is that why you stay away from your tribe? They’ve become the opposite of peace.”

“I had to stay away while I healed. But I’m going back. Soon.”

“Why?”

“Because they need me.”

He could not disguise the anger he held toward the tribe. And why should he? He was only bespelled to love her; his thoughts and ideals about everything else remained the same. There was something about the tribe and his leadership that didn’t sit right with Nikolaus.

“Kila seems to have survived well enough in your absence,” she tossed out as bait.

“I’m the only one who can protect them!”

“Nothing and nobody can ever be completely safe.” Bending before him, she put her face right up to his. Match me, meet my anger, let it out, vampire. “If the world is going to get you, it’ll find a way!”

Surprised that she was now defending the vampires, Ravin shook out her arms and paced beside the bed. Naked, as usual, she couldn’t summon a shred of modesty.

“Besides, you can’t return. They’ll smell me on you, and kill you for it.”

“Pretty damn hard to kill me now. If there was a way, I’d be all for it.”

“You don’t mean that.” She slid next to him on the bed, and despite herself, nestled into him. “You’re not like the vampires I’ve killed. An animal. Beastly. Blood hungry.”

“How can you know the men you kill when you shoot indiscriminately? You didn’t know me before that night you attacked Kila.”

Hearing the truth hurt. The Sight should have been hers long ago.

“You’re right. I’ve been doing it so long it’s…all that I know. This isn’t right, you and me. The whole world has changed on me overnight.”

“Maybe you need that change.”

“Maybe you should take your philosophy and find someone who cares.”

“I have found someone who cares.” He grabbed her by the arm and tugged her onto the bed. It didn’t take force to coax her to spoon into his body. Nikolaus whispered against her neck. “The trick is to make her realize she cares.”

He thought he knew her? Stupid bespelled vampire.

“I have some things to do,” he said. “Can I return tonight?”

“Would you stay away if I asked you to?”

“No. Sorry,” he murmured. “I said I’d listen. I shouldn’t have tried to suggest you did anything wrong. Love you, sweetness. I’ll be back later.”

Before replacing the leather box on the shelf, Ravin sorted through the pockets. There was one from her mother and a woven flax circle that had belonged to her grandmother. A slick periwinkle silk pocket from a suitor who had seduced her and stolen her virginity—but never her innocence—but five years after losing her parents.

A faery changeling’s pocket of blood-red velvet held a crust of dried liquid on the corner. Absinthe, had to be. There was a small flowered cotton pocket from her friend, Virginia, who had struggled with her own devilish pact made in the late 1800s. She’d died early, at the hands of Himself. Or rather, at the influence of the demonic, for Himself never got his hands dirty. That’s what minions were for.

The other pockets were from friends and lovers. People Ravin wanted to remember, but had never trusted that her memory would survive as long as she would.