"I'm . . . you . . . I'm not . . ."
She couldn't say it out loud. Shock blasted through her when she realized that though she'd used air to speak, she wasn't breathing. Almost blindly, her hand reached out to feel her neck. Nothing but smooth still ness beneath her fingers where her pulse should have been.
I'm a vampire.
Mencheres said nothing, his hand still cupping her face. Only then did her vision quit sliding enough to notice the rest of him. He was still wearing the same shirt from when she'd last seen him, but now, it had large red splotches on the front of it.
Was that her blood? And Radje . . . was the evil, smirking vampire who'd ordered her murder here, too? Kira's gaze swung around, but once again, everything started to blur together.
"Something's wrong with my eyes . . . who else is here?" she asked, panic starting to rise.
"No one but I, Gorgon, and the pilot are on this plane. As I said, you are safe." Safe? Kira fought back a hysterical laugh. She supposed she was safe since she was already dead.
Mencheres sat in front of her, his dark gaze somber, one hand on her shoulder while the other cupped her face. She blinked, noting that he looked more - vivid. The striking planes of his face were more sharply defined, highlights of rust made Mencheres's hair a richer shade of black, his eyes were tinted with the faintest flecks of silver, and his skin
. . . his skin was like sand in the sunshine, a gold-and-cream mixture that felt electrified with the power sparking from him.
More than beautiful - magnificent. Mencheres, her killer. Her savior. It was too much for Kira to process.
"Don't touch me," she whispered, looking away.
His hands dropped. A sense of regret slivered along her emotions, gone so fast, Kira wasn't sure if she felt it or if it had been a hallucination, like the apartment inferno had.
That blasting kept going off all around them. She glanced to the side, things swinging less in her vision this time, to see that they were indeed on a small plane. A glance down revealed that Mencheres wasn't the only one with red splashed on the front of him. This wasn't the outfit she'd, ah, died in, but it was still covered in something purplish that smelled like liquid cotton candy.
Kira sniffed without thinking about it, her nose almost exploding at the rush of scents, too many to distinguish. Above all was the heady, addictive aroma coming from the red stains on her shirt. She'd grasped it and stuffed the material in her mouth before her next coherent thought, whimpering at the intense pain that flared through her chest.
Then something wonderful poured down her throat. Rich, intoxicating, vibrant, necessary, it cooled that instant flash of agony, soothing her from the inside out. She hadn't even been aware of closing her eyes until a smash of light and motion replaced the momentary peaceful blankness of her vision.
"What is wrong with me?" Kira managed to ask, trying to stop the crazy tilting when she glanced around.
Mencheres's features swam before they crystal ized in the next moment. He was above her, his hair falling down around him in a dark curtain. If she was right, the hard, shaking flatness at her back was the plane's floor. Had she fall en down? She didn't remember doing that. Something wet coated her face and her mouth. Unable to stop herself, Kira licked it. A shudder of pleasure rippled through her, almost as intense as an orgasm. What was that?
"You are in the midst of the blood craze." His voice caressed her ears, making her shudder again. The sounds, sights, scents, tastes, textures . . . it was all too much. She felt like she was about to explode right out of her skin.
"It will lessen," Mencheres continued. Kira found herself arching toward his voice, as if it could physically touch her with the same effect that it stroked along her senses. "Until then, I cannot let you free. You would kill, Kira, and you would regret it."
"No . . ." she moaned, closing her eyes. This isn't real. Isn't real.
More bliss poured down her throat in the next moment, heavier than water, sweeter than syrup. She gulped, her back arching again, seeking to get closer to whatever the source was even though she couldn't move her hands to grab it.
"I will care for you," that silken, deep voice promised. "I will see you through this." Isn't real, isn't real, isn't real, Kira continued to chant in her mind. Nothing this intense could be real.
And through the exploding sounds of the engines, the vibrations from the floor, that rush of pain and bliss ebbing and cresting within her, the liquid ecstasy streaming down her throat, and the shocks she felt each time Mencheres touched her, she heard his voice again.
"Forgive me."
Mencheres watched Kira's face as he lay next to her in bed. She hadn't stirred since dawn. The first rays of sunlight had caused her to fall deeply asleep, as it did to all new vampires. Her sleeping made it easier during their time in the human-laden areas, such as the private airport his plane landed in and the cars alongside him on the drive to his house in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Mencheres had chosen this location with care. His nearest neighbors were at least a mile away in every direction, and Gorgon had attended to the immediate relocation of the humans staying there once they arrived.
Fewer sounds, temptations, and restrictions near Kira was best as she dealt with her new condition.
Though it would still be hard on her. Normally, humans who were chosen to become vampires went through an extended period where they imbibed vampire blood in ever-increasing quantities. It gave them a glimpse of what their new hunger, senses, and increased strength would feel like, making the final change less of a shock. Kira had had no such preparation. Everything would be overwhelming to her at first.
And she had not chosen this transition of her own free will. That would be the greatest obstacle for her to overcome. Still, Mencheres knew he could not have acted differently. If it was a choice between Kira's death or her despising him, he would always choose to be the object of her hatred rather than the instrument of her permanent destruction.
Gravel churning on the driveway announced that Gorgon was back. Mencheres felt a twinge of relief. Kira had drunk almost all the blood bags he'd hastily stolen from a hospital on their way from the strip club to his plane. Animal blood would suffice in desperate circumstances, but he suspected that if Kira roused from her sleep to find herself feeding from a dead deer, she'd harbor even more resentment toward him.
"She awake yet?" Gorgon called out as soon as he entered the house.
"Not yet." Mencheres glanced at the ebbing rays of the sun straining through the crack in the drapes. She would rise soon. By nightfal at the latest.