Twilight Illusions (19 page)

He didn't know what to say. What could he say to comfort her?

“I've denied it, you know. Held my chin up, pretended to be this big brave person, but I'm not.” Tears flowed freely, leaving angry red streaks on her skin. Her lips pulled tight, her teeth bared. “I don't want to die, Damien. I don't want to be brave anymore. I don't give a damn about dignity.”

He stilled, staring down at her face. “Do you mean that, Shannon?”

Her face relaxed. Her eyelids drooped, and he knew the end was close. Her breaths came so shallowly, and so randomly. No longer regular. “I'd…I'd give anything…” she whispered. “Anything…if I could just live…”

Her eyes fell closed.

He cupped her face between his hands, shook her gently. But she was beyond reach now. Sinking into the coma Eric had predicted. She wouldn't wake again. But she didn't need to, did she? Hadn't she just given him her decision?

Not really. She's feverish, sick. She didn't know what she was saying, didn't realize I could actually do it…

All true. But did it really matter? Could he really bear to let her die? Could anyone, mortal or immortal, sit idly by and watch someone he loved slip away, knowing he had the power to save her?

No. No, that was beyond endurance. No matter how he tried to tell himself it was wrong, that she should have been given the option while she was still cognizant enough to make an informed decision, he couldn't turn away. He didn't have that much strength in him. He couldn't face the madness again, and he knew it would come. He felt it descending on him as he sensed her heartbeat slowing, her breaths becoming less and less frequent. He couldn't do it, dammit! He couldn't go on without her. He couldn't sit here and watch her die, when she'd just all but begged him to save her.

He lifted her, his palms sliding up to her shoulder blades. Her head fell backward, hair like a golden silk curtain. Sweet Sleeping Beauty. He was about to give her the kiss that would wake her from death's slumber. He was no prince. She deserved better. He lowered his head, and as his lips touched her skin, he whispered, “Inanna, forgive me. Enkidu, help me. Shannon, sweet Shannon…stay with me.”

 

Anthar roared his rage aloud, forgetting his need for anonymity. It mattered little, for the heathen was too enamored with his precious morsel to notice. He'd noticed earlier, though. He knew there was another, one who wished him dead. He knew, and he'd be on his guard now. So much the better. The bastard would know why he suffered before he died.

But damn! To be robbed of watching Gilgamesh grieve for her death was a blow! He'd planned, waited so long. Of course, he'd wished to arrange it differently, to kill her himself and let the great one believe he'd done it. Then to watch Gilgamesh consumed by despair unto the point of taking his own worthless life.

All his plans were ruined.

Ah, but he would not give up his quest for vengeance. Siduri deserved to be avenged, and she would be. Anthar would simply have to kill Gilgamesh himself, and the woman, too. Her first, to increase the eternal one's pain. Perhaps he'd make Gilgamesh watch while he took her. Yes. She'd give little resistance, even with her newfound strength, she'd be a weakling compared with him.

And Anthar feared Gilgamesh himself, but little. He was nearly as old, the difference being a matter of minutes.

Anthar had followed Gilgamesh into the wilderness after Siduri's suicide. Followed to exact his revenge then. He'd caught up in the midst of Gilgamesh's meeting with Utnapishtim, the Enlightened One. The ancient wise man, it was said, had been made immortal by the gods in order to save him when the great flood ravaged the world. But he'd been charged not to share the gift, lest it become a curse instead.

Yet something about Gilgamesh must have touched the old man, for after great thought and much tormented arguing, he'd granted Gilgamesh's wish. They'd exchanged blood, and the act left Utnapishtim weak, and Gilgamesh strengthened.

“You will live forever now, my young friend,” the old one had whispered, before sending Gilgamesh away.

Anthar slipped in right after, and took advantage of the old man's weakened state to force him to repeat the ritual he'd just witnessed. If Gilgamesh lived, so must Anthar. He must live long enough to have his revenge.

And so he had.

And so he would.

 

Shannon had no idea how much time had passed, when she opened her eyes. She felt a little foggy at first, as if her head were stuffed full of wet cotton. She struggled to sit up, but her bones felt heavy and uncooperative.

Strong hands helped her, eased her up, and she looked around, frowning. They were not in Damien's house. She glanced up at him, then remembered the way they'd made love, and she smiled softly. “How long have I been asleep?” Her brows drew together. Her voice sounded strange to her, somehow deeper and more resonant than before. But that was silly.

“All of last night, and all through today.”

“It's night again?”

He nodded. His eyes were troubled, worried about something, and she had no idea what it could be, unless he was suffering over her sickness. Yes, that must be it. She'd had another attack right after that incredible sex on the desk in her office.

On the desk!

She lifted a hand to touch his face. She'd have to tell him the truth, prepare him for the eventuality that was unavoidable.

A low-flying bat swooped between them and shot upward once more, drawing her gaze. She gave her head a little shake and looked again. She could see every inch of its small body in perfect detail, despite the darkness. She could count the bones delineated in the thin black skin of its wings. Her eyes seemed to be working at high speed, because she could see each and every flutter of those wings, though they beat too rapidly for that to be possible. They ought to look like a blur. Then she bit her lip and her eyes widened even farther. She could
hear
each flutter, as well, and the piercing squeals, and their echoes bouncing back like sonar blips to tell the creature what lay ahead. And she could smell it. She could
smell it.
It was musky and ripe. My God, she felt the air currents stirred by those wings, passing by her face.

She shook her head slowly. “That's not possible.”

“What isn't?” Damien leaned forward, gripping her hand, and she could count the lines in his palm just by feeling them. She looked up into his face, and saw the unearthly gleam in his black eyes in a way she'd never seen it before. She saw the pale perfection of his skin, and she knew his scent, erotic and enticing though it was, could not be human. His hair was too perfectly raven, too silken, too soft, to be human.

Or maybe she'd succumbed to an overactive imagination because of a lunatic named Bachman. Maybe she was having a breakdown of some kind. She licked her lips. “Damien, why are we outside?”

“We had to leave the house. Bachman planned to come for us today, so I brought you here.”

“Where, exactly, is here?”

He smiled and glanced around. “A cave I know of, deep in the woods outside the city. You remember? We passed these woods in your car the other night. No one can find us here. You're safe.”

The wind blew a perfect harmony. She heard notes she'd never heard before. Every rustle of every leaf, every branch as it bowed. “This is so strange.”

“Tell me.”

She looked at him again, shocked once more that he appeared so different to her, so obviously different from any other man. And so afraid. What was he afraid of? She shook her head. “No. There's something more important I have to explain to you, Damien. About…about this illness of mine.”

He lowered his eyes.

“I'm…” She licked her lips. “I'm dying, Damien.”

Without looking at her, he replied, “No, Shannon. You are not.”

She gave her head a shake. He hadn't seemed surprised at all. No shock, no questions. Just a simple denial. He lifted his head. His black gaze stabbing into hers, he added, “Not ever.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”
…he wants to make you one of them. You'd be his prisoner, forever…

She tried to blink away her memory of Bachman's words, but they wouldn't leave. She shrank back a little. “Damien, what are you saying? What are you going to…to do to me?”

“It's done.”

“What's done?”

He reached out, fanned his fingers in her hair, spread them wide, as if to feel more of it. “Do you remember last night, when death was so close you could feel its cold breath on your nape? Do you remember crying, telling me you'd give anything, if only you could live? Don't you feel it, Shannon? Don't you
know?
”

Her breath caught in her throat. She remembered very little after their lovemaking on the desk. Too little. Hadn't she decided that all of this talk of vampires was craziness? Someone's insane fantasy? It couldn't be real. Hadn't she begged Damien to confirm that for her, right after they'd made love?

And hadn't he failed to do it?

There are no such things as vampires!

She stood up, feeling an unfamiliar strength seep into her. The fogginess in her brain had gone, leaving it sharp and alert. Her senses jangled with awareness, as though a zillion electrodes were pulsing tiny currents into her nerve endings. She felt energized, healthy, strong. More alive than she ever had.

She glanced down, opening and closing her hand and studying it as she did. Why did it feel so different? At last, she pressed that same palm to her throat, driven by some wild impulse, some impossible notion. And she felt the tiny indentations, two punctures, quickly healing over.

Her gaze flew to his. She shook her head in denial.

“It's all right, Shannon. There's nothing to be afraid of.” He lifted a hand, took a step toward her. “You won't be sick anymore. You won't die. You'll never die.”

“My God!” Another step away, and still he advanced. “My God, it's true, you are—”

“And so are you.”

“No!” But even as she shrieked the word, she knew it had to be true. Why else were her perceptions so altered? She cupped her palm over the wounds on her throat, as if covering them could make them disappear. “How could you, Damien! How could you do this to me?” Tears crept into her voice. She choked on them, fought them down.

“Shannon, I had to. You were dying. I couldn't let you die when you kept telling me how much you wanted to live.”

“You can't do this, dammit!”

He lowered his hands, stood where he was. He seemed to bear some silent devastation she was beyond caring about. “It's done.” Like a judge handing down an irrefutable sentence. Two words with more meaning than any she'd ever heard.

“So, now what happens? You keep me with you forever? I turn to you for everything? Is that what you expect now, Damien? Because you know I can't exist this way on my own, don't you? You know I have no idea how to survive like this, what to do, where to turn. So I'm utterly dependent—is that the idea?”

She was terrified,
terrified
of what she was now. Alive or dead? Human or some other sort of creature? Natural or a freak? Immortal or damned?

He only shook his head, obviously confused. “Of course you can depend on me to—”

“The hell I will!” She shouted it, her voice too loud to be natural, so loud it hurt her own ears. She squeezed her eyes tight and forced herself to speak more softly. “What can kill us?”

“What?”

“What can kill us? Tell me, damn you.”

He blinked slowly before answering. “Sunlight. The slightest touch of a live flame. Any injury that causes severe bleeding. We're like hemophiliacs in that way. If you can't get the bleeding stopped right away you…” His voice trailed off. “Shannon, why are you asking me this?”

“Because I need to know. Because I don't know if I want to live like this. Because…” She covered her face with both hands and turned away from him. She was a liar and a coward. She
didn't
want to die, and she knew it. But God, what was this alternative he'd given her? Blindly, sobbing, she took a few steps away, toward the mouth of the cave.

“Where are you going?”

“Away. Just away.”

He followed, catching her shoulder. She jerked back from his touch. “Shannon, you can't just go off by yourself.”

“Why the hell not?”

He stood there gripping her arm. “Please. Just sit down, give yourself time to adjust. Let me explain what all of this means….”

“Leave me alone!” She pulled away, stood facing him, breathless with shock and anger. “I swear to God, if you don't let me go I'll hate you forever. Does that even matter to you, Damien? Or was Bachman right about that, too?” She turned again, and raced off into the forest, into the night.