“That’s enough, my love,” he says. “You’ve said enough. Let us go now before he wakes.”
“No, Michael. He needs to hear this.” She looks at the camera. “I loved you like my own child, and you have stolen that from me. Again. It was all a game to you, and that is also why I’m leaving today. I never want to see you again. I never want to hear your name spoken until it comes accompanied by the news that you are dead. Goodbye.”
She ends the video, and I feel a strange sensation in my chest, like it’s caving in. Suddenly, there is moisture collecting in the corners of my eyes again.
I have lost her. My Miriam. All along I thought that somewhere deep inside her heart, she had feelings for me, that she would remember. But she only saw me as an opportunity to reclaim her lost years of motherhood with Stella.
It was motherly love all along.
The realization makes me feel surprisingly dirty inside. What she felt was pure and unconditional despite our history. What I felt for her was quite the opposite.
“Racker? Hello!” I hear Brandi’s voice down the hall.
“In here,” I say, wiping my eyes to hide the evidence of my unexpected wimpy emotions.
Moments later, she pops her head in. “I was calling you from downstairs, but you didn’t answer. I got worried.”
Ah, yes. Brandi fears being alone. “All is well. As I said, this home is a fortress. If anyone attempts to get in, we will know.”
She nods, but I sense my words do not ease her fears. “Well, um, the phone isn’t working. I was wondering if I could use your cell again? I want to let my parents know I’m safe.”
Brandi already called them from the road. It had been a brief but teary exchange. She told them she was all right and moving to a safe place where they could come get her.
“Of course.”
I hand her the phone.
“Who’s she?” Brandi asks.
I forgot to close out Miriam’s video. “An old acquaintance.”
Brandi stares at the screen. “This is her house. I saw a photo of her down in the study. She’s with a man, a little girl, and she’s holding a baby in a leather onesie.”
I smile. The leather onesie was one of my ingenious methods of torturing Vanderhorst. It served to remind him who I really was. Psychological torture. I would cry for hours until they put it on me. Of course, the onesie wasn’t made of real leather, but it did look rather nice. I was a badass, even as a baby.
“Yes, that baby would be yours truly.”
Brandi frowns. “So those are your parents?”
“No. Not exactly. They raised me. This time, anyway.” I begin telling Brandi the short version of the story, leaving out the part about being a notorious, evil vampire, feared by all.
“You’re joking.”
“Which part of my story do you find difficult to believe?” She already knows that vampires are real.
“So you took a cure, turned into a baby, and then your enemy raised you?”
“Yes, and his brother has prohibited anyone from turning me.”
“But why would you want to be a vampire again? I just don’t get it.”
“Because I am experiencing a rare side effect of the cure, and that photo in the study was taken five years ago,” I reply.
Brandi is a smart one. I know this because it takes her a mere two seconds to connect all the dots. “That’s why you wanted Julia to turn you. And, ohmygod, I messed it up.”
I nod.
She cups a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“What’s done is done.” I raise my chin.
“But you’re sure no one’s willing to turn you?”
“Yes.” Any allies I had will turn their backs on me now.
“But can’t we, I don’t know, catch a vampire and force him to turn you?”
“Any vampire that weak would not be an adequate maker. I would be victimized by the stronger ones—mostly my friends.”
“I’m sorry, but your vampire friends sound like a bunch of assholes,” Brandi says.
“All the same, I would rather accept my fate and die than be turned by a watered-down, weakling, hundredth-generation vampire.” The most respected vampires are powerful vampires. And to be powerful, you must have a close lineage to the original twelve vampires. Second-, third-, and fourth-generation vampires are very strong. Of course, vampires also grow stronger with age, but lineage trumps everything else.
Narcissismo was a fourth generation, which made me a five. Not good enough. I quickly came to realize that if I wanted power, I had to fake my way to the top. So I began convincing other vampires I was a second generation—a big step above most. I became quite good at demonstrating my speed, a skill I had to work hard at achieving.
After a while, I had everyone believing I was a force to be reckoned with. Of course, I actually was. With so many allies and everyone fearing me, there has never been a more powerful vampire. Even Vanderhorst, the legendary Executioner, feared me.
“No wonder you look upset.” Brandi sits down beside me. “I’m so sorry. Really. If there’s anything I can do.”
“I am afraid not.”
“So what will happen? Where will you…” Her voice fades.
“Where will I age to death?” I shrug. “I had thought to go to Paris or Seville, but I now have the urge to die here.”
“In Phoenix?”
“In this bed. I think it only appropriate to ruin it.”
Brandi frowns. “You want to ruin your parents’ bed?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Okay.” She pats my leg. “I should get downstairs and check the sauce.”
“I will find you some clean clothes and be down in a moment.”
“Thanks again.” She holds up my phone. “For everything, Racker.”
I nod and watch her leave. I have thrown my life away to save one tiny mortal, who will be dead in sixty years.
Smart move, Nice.
At least she is enjoyable company. Not too hard on the eyes either. Perhaps knowing she will have the chance to live her dream—find love, get married, have a family—will ease my sense of stupidity.
I pause and give it some thought.
Nope.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I find several clean T-shirts, a few of those light stretchy sundresses Miriam likes to wear in this summer heat, a nightgown, and sweats for Brandi to wear until her family can come for her. I take a shortcut through the house and use the spiral staircase in the library to go downstairs. But as I descend, I begin thinking about all the books I have yet to read.
I do love reading. But even I, the once great Mr. Nice, hardly had time for it. I kept telling myself I had eternity to read them all, but now it dawns on me how mistaken I was.
Tonight, I will begin reading The Lord of the Rings. Then I will work my way through Harry Potter, Game of Thrones, and perhaps even Jane Austen—all of the contemporary works. After that Voltaire, Dante, and Nietzsche. Perhaps I will treat myself to another Mimi Jean book. They do make me laugh. Her depiction of vampires is ridiculous.
I was always surprised how much Miriam gushed over this Fanged Love series I pretended to enjoy so much. Vampires who are destined only to love one person? A mate? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous. That’s like saying there is only one sunrise for each person or only one pair of leather pants.