“Let me get this straight. You said at fourteen you truly realized your uniqueness. You didn’t know what you were before? What did your mum tell you about your father when you were growing up?”
That was a very painful subject, and I felt a shudder go through me at the memory. A vampire was hardly the person I ever thought I’d be talking to about this.
“She never mentioned my father. If I’d ask, as I did when I was little, she’d change the subject or get angry. But the other children let me know. They called me a bastard from the time they could speak.” I closed my eyes briefly, the shame still stinging. “Like I said, when I hit puberty I started to feel…even more different. So much worse than when I was a child. It got harder to hide my weirdness, like my mom told me to. I liked the night most. I’d wander for hours in the orchard. Sometimes I wouldn’t even sleep until dawn. But it wasn’t until those boys cornered me that I knew how bad it was.”
“What did they do?” His voice was softer, almost gentle.
In my mind I could see their faces as clearly as if they stood before me.
“They were shoving me around again. Pushing me, calling me names, the usual stuff. That didn’t set me off. It happened almost every day. But then one of them, I can’t remember which, called my mother a slut, and I lost my temper. I threw a rock at him and busted his teeth out. The others jumped me, and I beat them. They never told anyone what happened. Finally, on my sixteenth birthday, my mother decided I was old enough to know the truth about my father. I didn’t want to believe her, but deep down, I knew it was true. That was the first night I saw my eyes glow. She held a mirror up to my face after stabbing me in the leg. She wasn’t being mean. She wanted me upset so I could see my eyes. About six months later, I killed my first vampire.”
My eyes stung with unshed tears, but I wouldn’t cry. Could not cry in front of this thing who had made me retell what I’d tried to forget.
He stared at me in a very peculiar way. If I didn’t know better, I would say there was empathy in his gaze. But that was impossible. He was a vampire, they didn’t do compassion.
Abruptly I stood. “Speaking of my mother, I have to call her. She’ll be worried sick. I’ve come home late before, but I’ve never been out this long. She’ll think one of you bloodsuckers killed me.”
That caused his eyebrows to fly into his hairline. “Your mum knows you’ve been luring vampires with promises of shagging and then killing them? And she allows you to do this? Blimey, I thought you were joking when you said she knew you were putting a dent in our population. If you were my child, I’d have you nailed inside your room at night. Don’t understand people nowadays, let their kids do anything.”
“Don’t speak about her that way!” I burst out. “She knows I’m doing the right thing! Why wouldn’t she support that?”
His eyes bored into mine very steadily, clear dark pools of brown. Then he shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
Suddenly he stood in front of me. I hadn’t even had time to blink, he was so fast.
“You’ve got good aim when you throw things. Found that out last night when you chucked your cross at me. Just think, a few inches lower and you might have been planting daisies over my head by now.” He grinned as if amused at the mental image. “We’ll work to improve your speed and accuracy. You’ll be safer if you can kill from a distance. You’re too bloody vulnerable up close.”
He grasped me by the upper arms. I tried to pull away, but he held on. Iron bars would have had more give.
“Your strength leaves much to be desired. You’re stronger than a human man, but probably as weak as the weakest vampire. We’ll have to work on that as well. Also, your flexibility is shit and you don’t use your legs at all when you fight. They’re valuable weapons and should be treated as such. As for your speed, well…that might be hopeless. But we’ll give it a go anyhow. The way I figure it, we have about six weeks before we can get you out in the field. Yep, five weeks of hard training, and one week to work on your looks.”
“My looks?” Outrage filled my voice. How dare a dead man critique me? “What’s wrong with my looks?”
Bones smiled condescendingly. “Oh, nothing horribly wrong, but still something that needs fixing before we send you out.”
“You-”
“After all, we’re going after some big fish, luv. Baggy jeans and a mediocre appearance won’t cut it. You wouldn’t know sexy if it bit you in the arse.”
“By God, I am going to-”
“Quit blathering. Didn’t you want to call your mum? Come with me. My cell phone’s in the back.”
Mentally I performed all sorts of tortuous acts on his bound and helpless body, but in reality I bit my tongue and followed him deeper into the cave.
FOUR
H ARD TRAINING. THOSE WERE THE WORDS HE used to describe the brutal, agonizing, death-defying ordeals even the military wouldn’t inflict on their most hardened troops.
Bones ran me through the forest at speeds cars couldn’t sustain. I stumbled over fallen trees, rocks, roots, and natural potholes until I was too exhausted to even vomit. Passing out didn’t excuse me from my tasks, either. He’d simply keep dousing icy water on my face until I came to again. I practiced throwing knives until my knuckles cracked and bled. His response? To uncaringly toss me some Neosporin and tell me not to get it on my palms or it would ruin my grip. His version of weight lifting? Hefting stone boulders repeatedly, gradually increasing their size and density. StairMaster? That would be climbing up the cave inclines with large rocks strapped to my back.
After one week, I threw off all of his artificial impediments and refused to go farther, stating had I known his intentions beforehand I would have gladly chosen death. Bones just smiled at me with his fangs extended and told me to prove it. Seeing that he was serious, I reapplied my outfittings and trudged wearily onward.
By far, though, the most grueling activity was up close with him. He stretched my limbs until tears poured down my face, chiding me all the while for my lack of flexibility. Then, during our hand-to-hand combat, he’d knock me into a state of unconsciousness that all the icy water in the world couldn’t revive. I would wake up with the taste of his blood in my mouth, just to repeat the procedure all over again. To say I fantasized about killing him every second of every day was an understatement. Yet I got better, I had no choice. With Bones, it was either improve or die.
My first indication of increased stamina came after my second week of training. Bones and I fought and I actually didn’t pass out. He still beat me soundly, but I remained conscious throughout. It was a mixed blessing. I had my dignity from not going night-night in the middle of our battle, but then was awake when he fed me his blood.
“Disgusting,” I spat after being cajoled and then threatened into putting his bloody finger in my mouth. “How can you things live off that?”
The words left my lips without forethought, as had many before them.
“Necessity is the mother of all appetites. What you need in order to survive, you learn to love,” he replied shortly.
“All this blood better not turn me into a vampire. That was not our deal.”
I felt uncomfortable arguing with his finger jammed in my mouth, and I moved my head backward until it slid wetly out. It was almost a sexual gesture. I blushed as soon as the thought flitted through my mind. He caught the flush, of course. No doubt the reason behind it as well, but just wiped his hand on his shirt.
“Trust me, luv, you aren’t having nearly enough blood to turn you into a vampire. Since you fret about it all the time, however, I’ll tell you how it works. First, I’d have to drain you to the very point of death. There’s a trick to that, taking enough blood without taking too much. Then, stuffed full of your blood, I’d open my artery for you and let you drink it right back out of me. All of it, and then some. There’s a trick to that, too. You have to be strong to make other vampires, or your would-be protégée sucks you dry and kills you while he or she is changing. New vampires are harder to get off an artery than a starving babe off a juicy teat. These measly drops of blood I’m feeding you aren’t doing more than healing your injuries. They’re probably not even enough to enhance your strength. Now, will you stop griping every time you have to lick a few bits off my pieces?”