What more, indeed, but a life as long as his. She stirred restlessly. She would not think of that now. She was still young. Old age was far in the future, yet she grew older every day. She had rarely given much thought to death. It was, after all, a fact of life. Unless you were a vampire. Tears stung her eyes. The day would come when her youth would be gone, and her health with it. What would become of them then?
“What troubles you now, wife?”
“Nothing,” she lied.
Sitting up, he used the pads of his thumbs to wipe the tears from her eyes. “Since when does nothing make you weep?”
“I’m pregnant,” she said, sniffling. “I’m always weepy these days.”
“I can feel your sadness.” His gaze searched her face. He could see it clearly, even in the dark. “Do I need to read your mind to find out what is bothering you?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Then tell me.”
“What’s going to happen to us when I start to get old and you don’t? Will you still love me then? Will you still want me?”
With a sigh, he turned on the bedside lamp, then drew her up beside him, his arm circling her shoulders. Fool that he was, he had put the future out of his mind, content to live in the present with the woman he loved.
Fighting back her tears, she eased out of his embrace.
“Elena . . .”
She shook her head. “You don’t have to say anything.” Did she really expect him to stay with her, be content to be with her, when she was seventy or eighty and looked it, and he was still a virile male with the face and body of a thirty-year-old?
“It does not have to be like that,” he said quietly. “There are ways . . .”
Eyes widening in horror, she scooted backward. “I don’t want to be a vampire.”
“You cannot become what I am. As I told you before, I was not made a vampire. It is what I am. But there are ways to prolong your life. Your youth. You are young yet. We have years before you need to decide.”
“What ways?” she asked, curiosity mingling with revulsion.
“If you drink from me, it will slow the aging process, so that with the passing of each year, your body will only age one day.”
“How often would I have to drink your blood?”
“Every night for the first year, then every week, then every month, then only once a year for as long as you wish.”
“And when I stop drinking?”
“You will begin to age normally again. But, as I said, you needn’t worry about it now.” Reaching out, he took her back into his arms, aligning her body with his. “Whatever you decide, I will never leave you. Do you understand ? Never. If you choose to live a normal span of years, I will be at your side. The last face you see will be mine, I swear it.”
It was a lot to expect of any man, Elena thought, but Drake was not really a man.
“So, wife, have I set your mind at ease?”
“Yes, I guess so.” The thought of drinking blood was repulsive, but to age only one day for each year she lived . . . The idea was mind-boggling. Could it be true?
“It is a carefully guarded secret,” Drake said. “You must never tell anyone.”
She nodded. If people knew there was a way to live practically forever, they would be hunting vampires relentlessly for their blood. Greedy men would make a fortune selling it. People would kill for it.
“So, no one else—no other human I mean—knows about it?”
“None living.”
“But others have done it?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to them?”
“There have only been five that I know of. One grew weary of living and reverted to being human. Three died in accidents. One was killed when she decided to share her knowledge with the world. When her vampire mate discovered her intent, she was destroyed.”
Elena nodded. “But the blood . . .” She shuddered in revulsion.
“It is a small price to pay for immortality, is it not?”
Elena thought about what Drake had said the next morning while doing the laundry. What would it be like, to live virtually forever? She had asked Drake a similar question once before. His reply had been that it could be challenging after a few hundred years because, by then, one had seen everything and done everything.
She tossed a load of damp clothes into the dryer, piled another load into the washer, added soap and fabric softener as she considered something else Drake had said when she’d asked him about living so long. He had told her that vampires sometimes buried themselves in the ground. To rest. Buried alive, she thought with a shudder.
Still, it would be nice to be virtually indestructible, she mused. If she was a vampire, she could do all the things she was afraid to do, like scuba diving and skydiving and rock climbing. But she couldn’t become a true vampire. Not that she really wanted to be one, of course.
But living for centuries, that was within her grasp, if she could just overcome her disgust at drinking blood. She sighed. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if it was Drake’s blood. . . .
She shook her head. It would still be disgusting, she thought. If she didn’t have to drink it directly from Drake, maybe she could mix it with a little wine to make it more palatable. But, palatable or not, it would be worth it if it meant a longer life with the man she loved.
Going upstairs to the main hall, she opened the door and peered outside. It was snowing again.
She stood at the door a moment, watching the tiny white flakes settle on the trees and the ground. She had been cooped up inside for days. She was wondering if she dared go outside, just for a few minutes, when a movement to her right caught her eye. Before she could register what she was seeing, a hand clamped a rag over her nose and mouth, stifling her startled scream. Her nostrils filled with a sickly sweet smell, and then everything went blank.
Chapter 35
Elena awoke, not knowing what had happened or where she was, only that she was cold. A quick glance at her surroundings showed that she was in a wooden shed of some kind. Pale sunlight filtered through a small, dirty window set high in one wall. A chill wind howled outside, rattling the door, creeping through the cracks in the old building, making her shiver.
A shiver born of fear rather than the cold slithered down her spine when she realized her hands were tied behind her, and that the brown lump in the corner was moving, standing.
As Elena’s vision cleared, a scream rose in her throat, but no sound emerged.
Hatred mingled with lust in Tavian Dinescu’s sunken eyes. And then he slapped her. “You little whore,” he said with a sneer, and struck her again, harder this time.