Actually she was pretty sure she fainted from lack of oxygen, then hit her head. Standing up and orgasming was just too much to ask of the poor ticker. “I’m okay.”
Gregor frowned.
Their short future flashed before her.
It was hard to be the one by the bedside, to be helpless, to be forced to watch the spook show. Being the sick one was the easy half of the deal, really. She would not let him be torn apart by this. She’d rather have him hate her than go through it.
“Come here,” she said, smiling, wanting him to smile back at her. “Make me forget my head hurts.”
Make me forget what comes next.
They made love, a little circle of carpet the only thing between them and cold tile. Gregor handled her with great gentleness, like she was a blown egg.
They took their time. When she was ready she guided him in and they rocked together in a quiet pool of pleasure, dragging it out as long as they could. It was impossible to say who went first. They climaxed together, the shock waves passing through his frame direct echoes of her own, their kisses in the aftermath more tender than she would have ever thought possible.
In that moment she understood she could love Gregor Faustin. A man who could kiss her like that was a man who could have her heart. Too bad her heart wasn’t worth keeping.
It was more than she could deal with that night. So tired she was sick from it, she begged for sleep. He carried her to bed, where she returned to the blackness in his arms.
Gregor woke because he was cold. She was missing from his side, but the sheets were still warm. He leapt out of bed, found the bathroom empty, caught her scent and strode out into the sleeping club, his feet sticking to gunk that coated the floor at the end of every night. It was pitch dark, but he saw her right away, his night vision outlining her in tones of gray and silver. She was all bundled up, had her lunch pail in her hand, and was making her way haltingly across the floor.
“Madelena,” he shouted. That was a mistake. He should have snuck up on her.
She sprinted for an emergency exit, which was probably only visible to her as a glowing red sign. He ran after her, but she was too close to the door. Being a smart human, she threw herself against the latch bar, and the door swung open, spilling a long rectangle of sunlight across the floor. Gregor had to leap back to keep his toes from getting burned.
He put one hand up to protect his eyes from the brightness. “Don’t go.”
“I have to.” All of the strength and laughter that he loved in her voice was gone. Her breath came in heavy gasps.
“Tell me why you’re doing this.”
Madelena did not answer for a few heartbeats, then she said, “One night is all I ever wanted, Gregor. I said that from the start.”
Her shadow passed into the bright world and the door swung shut.
“You are lying!” he screamed after her.
It would be okay once she was home. All she needed to do was get home.
One thing at a time.
Maddy stood in the street outside Tangiers, squinting in the weak morning sun, trying to orient herself but seeing nothing but brick walls and steel doors. She didn’t know the meatpacking district at all, didn’t know where the nearest subway stop might be. The street was all locked down and devoid of life. She was lost.
Gregor’s scream still echoed in her ears. She thought about turning around, pounding on the doors, crawling into his arms, begging his forgiveness.
So he can drive you to the hospital? See you hooked up to a respirator? Watch—
Clammy with sweat and sick to her stomach, she headed roughly northeast and hoped for the best. How she found a station, she did not understand. She just stumbled on a stairway down and followed it. Like a drunk, she trusted the universe to take care of her sorry ass, and it worked.
At her transfer station she had to climb stairs to get to her next train. Fucking Mayan temple stairs. Endless. Halfway up she had to stop to rest, her lungs burning, each breath painful. Commuters swarmed around her, buffeting her as they squeezed past, some of them bitching at her. I am an obstruction to progress, she laughed to herself, plaque in the subway’s arteries.
Once at the top she learned she had to turn around and go down a new flight of stairs. Sadists designed the system. She’d often thought so, but now she was convinced. Halfway down to her platform she heard a train coming in, saw it was her beloved number seven train. The thought of waiting for the next one was more than she could stand. Desperation gave her a burst of energy and she stumbled down the stairs and across the platform, shoving herself through the doors just as they began to close.
Maddy grabbed a pole and pressed her cheek against the cool, smooth metal. It was so hard to breathe. Home, Jeeves, she thought to herself. The train heaved and she went dizzy. Instead of passing, the spell turned into pure vertigo. She fell into an open seat and dropped her head between her legs. Her stomach twisted and heaved, but it was empty.
“You okay, ma’am?” A hand touched her shoulder. She turned her head to see a kind, black face, a clean-cut young kid in a natty suit and a skinny retro tie. Nation of Islam? Or was this some new fashion statement she didn’t know about? Every detail about him mattered a lot, somehow, from the crack in his lower lip to the starched points of his collar. He was a very beautiful, a unique soul. And so kind. She smiled at him, wanting to reassure him, because she loved him. She loved everyone.
And funny enough, she could not breathe.
It’s happening.
The floor rose up to embrace her. It felt good. Almost as good as snuggling in bed with Gregor.
At the dark, fringy edges of her consciousness she heard a woman’s voice. It sliced through the warm static filling her brain.
“Don’t worry, I’m a doctor.”
Fuck.
Chapter 8
Gregor slammed his fist against the steel door, furious that he could not follow her. Furious at the sun.
“Liar!”
His scream bounced off the walls and echoed like a ghost in the empty club. A white rectangle of light danced across his retinas. He dug his palms into his eye sockets, trying to make the burning image go away, but that only made it worse.
“Fuck!”
He was going to lose her.
“Goddamn motherfucking shit!”
He gave her a half hour to get home, then called her. When she didn’t pick up, he pled with her answering machine, feeling like an idiot. “Madelena, talk to me. Call me.”
An hour later he did it again. Then he swore he’d hit himself over the head with a hammer before he did it a third time.
A vampyr needed to sleep by day, more than a human needs to sleep by night. His body knew when the sun was out and shut down in response. As Gregor turned cold, his thoughts became increasingly sluggish and depressed. Maybe she wasn’t lying. He had to admit that she’d never shown any interest in him beyond sex. In fact, she’d warned him off repeatedly.
Maybe she didn’t like him at all.
Maybe he’d convinced himself that he wanted her because he believed it was inevitable. Under normal circumstances he’d never put up with her bullshit, that was sure as hell. The whole thing felt like a curse, a spell gone wrong.
Everything was wrong.
And he was so fucking hungry he could suck on a rat. He had to sleep. Then he could hunt. Then he could think. So he anesthetized himself with several shots of vodka and sealed himself in his bedroom behind a triple-walled sliding steel door. The bed sheets reeked of their sex. He fell into a light, troubled sleep.