Gregor’s eyes flipped open. Damn good thing he wore a knee-length coat too, or he’d be arrested for public indecency. Madelena had vanished into the crowd on the avenue, but he was downwind of her, and her scent still played in his nostrils. If he wanted to, he could find her easily. But he didn’t.
If he went after her, he’d be lost, and he had no intention of bowing to this insanity. The chemistry between them was powerful, sure, but what about the rest of it? What about the slight problem that they couldn’t stand one another? That she was an annoying geek? Buffy the Goddamn Vampire Slayer could kiss his ass. And so could all the powers of vampyr prophecy. He liked his life exactly as it was.
Gregor sniffed the air one last time, and caught a fading thin thread of her scent. That was it. He’d never see her again. The desire for her would fade, and he’d be back to himself soon enough. In the meanwhile, Mikhail was waiting for him. He began to search for another cab, contemplating the unfamiliar taste of ketchup in his mouth.
Mikhail met Gregor at his office door with a slap on the back. “You’re late. What happened to you?”
He withdrew his hand with a grimace and sniffed it. Gregor twisted, trying to see what was on his back.
“Let me guess,” Mikhail said, wiping his greasy hand down the front of Gregor’s coat. “You got in a brawl with a hot dog vendor?”
Gregor cursed and slipped his coat off to see the damage. “Something like that.”
Always fond of mysteries, Mikhail stepped closer, his fine-cut nostrils flaring as he circled Gregor, probing for clues. Mikhail was disgustingly attractive, so much so that he didn’t pass for human. His skin was eerily flawless, his fair hair too bright, his eyes too predatory. Among humans he had to dull down his appearance or keep to the shadows. Whenever he walked into Tangiers he caused a stir, so he didn’t do it much. It was pretty clear who in the Faustin family got the vampyr lord genes, and who got the Russian peasant dregs.
“Who’s this woman I smell on you, what was she doing with a hot dog, and why are you so frustrated?”
“We’re here to talk about security issues, not my sex life.”
Mikhail was designing the security system for Elixir. That was his job, contrary to appearances: security consultant, not therapist, not bloodhound.
“But this is so much more interesting.” His cold eyes sharpened with interest. “You look drawn. When did you last feed?”
Gregor brushed Mikhail’s hand off his arm and threw himself in a chair to put an end to the hovering and sniffing. “I don’t know. I think I grabbed a bite yesterday.”
The truth was that somehow the bitter, stale blood in Madelena’s ankle had tainted the taste of all blood for him. He was starving, but couldn’t eat much. This queasiness crossed over into the realm of sex. Something about her had managed to put him off sex with other women, but that sure as hell wasn’t going to be a permanent state of affairs.
Mikhail lifted one exquisite eyebrow at him, questioning, amused.
“You got something to show me or not?”
“Testy, testy.” Mikhail pulled out the floor plan of Elixir, rolled it out on a worktable and secured the corners with polished onyx weights. “Is this woman I smell on you your intended?”
“Goddamn it, Misha.” Gregor ran his fingers through his hair and gave up. Mikhail had the patience to badger him until the end of time if he didn’t submit. “Yes.”
Mikhail’s lips stretched in a slow smile. “She’s human. Does she please?”
“No. She does not please. Not at all. This prophesying bullshit—it doesn’t work.”
“I’d say it is working quite well, by the looks of you. Let me guess, you’ve tasted her but not consummated?” When Gregor would not answer, he continued. “Why are you fighting it? You’re bound to her already. No other woman will ever please you again.”
“Fuck!” Gregor leapt out of his chair. “Don’t say that. What, just because I tasted her?”
Mikhail inclined his head in acknowledgement (the bastard never said “uh-huh” like a normal person) and produced a bottle of scotch and two glasses from a drawer. The Faustin cure-all for every disaster.
“Goddamn it!” Gregor brought both hands down on the desktop, toppling a pencil cup. “Fucking nice of one of you to warn me about that little rule.”
Mikhail held out a glass of scotch, which Gregor ignored, so he put it on the desk in front of him. “I would think you’d know. It’s common knowledge. Remember the tale of Roland and Illysia?”
“No, I do not fucking remember Roland and fucking Illysia!” Gregor put his hands to his head as a sharp pain pierced him from temple to temple. He hadn’t even known her name when he first tasted her, when she lifted her hair up and showed him the scrape on her brow. He remembered how that taste shot through him. It had been an impulse to kiss her clean, nothing more. Would that impulse dictate the course of his life?
It would not.
He took a deep breath and let it out. Then he pounded back the scotch in one swallow, slammed the glass back on the desk, pointed an accusing finger at Mikhail and let fly.
“I might have skipped a lot of reading growing up, but I remember one thing for certain. We are free creatures. Pop taught us that. My free will is sacred, and it will not be bound by anything. If I marry, it will be the person of my choosing. I will not be forced by fate and I damn well won’t be tricked into it by my family.”
Mikhail narrowed his eyes at Gregor’s index finger, recognizing it as the challenge it was, but only said, “As you will.”
“Don’t fucking humor me. Say what you’re thinking.”
Mikhail sat down and contemplated the bottom of his glass for a moment. “I will not be pulled into a fight with you. You’re hungry and foul tempered. But I will answer your question. I think you have been given a gift, and that you should accept it.”
Gregor hated him as he had when they were children, hated him for being so goddamn smug and serene, hated him for being right most of the time.
“Someday soon Ma will hand you a little slip of paper with a name on it, Misha, and then you will tell me how much you appreciate the ‘gift’ of losing your free will.”
Mikhail smiled a cold smile, showing a bit of tooth to warn him off. “Are you prophesying now, or was that a curse?”
“Take it as a curse.”
Gregor threw his shoulder against the door and walked out into the free night air.
Maddy decided to quit her job. It was too tiring. The commute was killing her. Literally. She had savings that she had no use for, and leave time coming to her, so she decided to live quietly at home for as long as the ticker would hold out. She’d read, play with the kids next door, feed the ducks.
Her heart, patched, battered and worn, was just not going to last without medical intervention. How long she had, she really wasn’t sure, and didn’t want to know. Weeks? Months? A year? What she did know was that she did not want her chest cracked open yet again.
All her life she’d been in and out of hospitals and she was tired of it. All her valves had been replaced, some more than once. Her heart muscle was atrophied and limping, ravaged by infections and prematurely aged. By luck of the draw she’d been born with damaged goods, and despite that, they’d kept her alive thirty years, which was more than anyone expected. Her greatest fear was not death. She’d been on death’s doorstep her entire life. What she feared was useless pain, the loss of dignity, and most of all, ending up sustained by machines.