Page 18 of Clay White
“The Chinese restaurant,” I said. Because that’s where we were, in the small office Marek had used as a sleeping space. The room where I’d been captured.
He nodded. “It’s secure and there are no windows.”
“Buckley?” I asked when my sluggish mind made a shift.
“Dead. While he was busily murdering you, Grimes was able to stab him in the eye.” I couldn’t blame Marek for looking pleased about that. “We hacked his corpse to pieces and scattered them, just in case. I think Grimes burned the head. Buckley’s gone for good.”
“And…. Fuck. Tenrael?” I remembered him in a heap on Buckley’s floor. “Is he dead too?”
“It’s very difficult to kill a demon. His wings will take a few weeks to mend, but he’ll be fine.”
“How did they find me?”
We both knew I was dancing around the elephant in the room, but Marek humored me. “Tenrael did it. You didn’t meet them when you were supposed to, and he…. Something about tracking you through your dreams. You’ll have to ask him about it. They’re at a motel. Giving you some space until you’re ready to… face the world.”
I didn’t take the obvious opportunity to discuss the obvious. “And you? You’re all right?”
Still atop me, Marek spread his arms. “I am in excellent condition. Although right now I’m hungry. And I imagine you still are as well.” He looked at me. Waiting.
I couldn’t ignore the inevitable any longer. “Vampire,” I whispered. I explored my mouth with my tongue, which caught on my fangs. I liked the taste of my blood, but it wasn’t as good as Marek’s.
He climbed off, but only so he could kneel beside me. When I sat up, our faces were close. “You were fading. It was either this or I’d lose you forever.” His expression was so solemn, his strange eyes burning with emotion. “I’m stronger than you. But if you wish to destroy me, I won’t resist.”
I didn’t answer. I stood instead and looked down at myself. I was naked, my skin clean and whole, my frame as substantial as it had been before Buckley caught me. No sign of bruises or other souvenirs from my captivity. But when I laid my palm against my chest, my heart was still, and my lungs didn’t work unless I willed them to. I was cool to my own touch. I guessed I’d no longer be able to see my reflection in a mirror, but my fingers told me that someone had cleaned and combed my hair, and that I had a couple of days’ worth of stubble on my face. I wondered if I’d carry that unshaven look for the remainder of my existence.
I flexed my muscles. Strong—very strong. As if I could move a mountain. I saw every detail of the room sharply despite the darkness, heard the rustle of rodents and insects in the walls, smelled soy sauce and hot oil and steaming rice. I smelled Marek too, an intoxicating aroma of blood and sorrow and strength that made me want to tear off his clothing and sink into his body.
Assessing my internal self took more courage. Yes, I was ravenous, longing to chase something and feed on the hot essence of life. Yet I still felt like me, Clayton White. A person with many regrets and more than a few old grudges, a person who possessed more than his share of flaws. Also a person who wanted to protect the blameless, not harm them. Who wanted love and companionship and respect, and who wanted to give those things to another. Funny. I’d always assumed those were purely human needs.
While I was evaluating myself, Marek had crossed the little room and taken something out of a desk drawer. Now he stood in front of me, offering me the object. My gun.
“It’s loaded,” he said. “With your special Bureau bullets.”
I took the weapon and weighed it in my hand. It had always felt like such a powerful thing, but now it was only a small metal object of little importance.
“Why am I… calm?” I’d seen newly risen vampires before, and they’d seemed like nothing more than mindless fiends. No more humanity to them than a rabid beast possessed.
“Your first waking meal was from your maker. That helps a great deal, especially when your maker is quite old. Few of us are granted that when we are new.”
I nodded slowly. “Your blood.” I could still taste it, but even better, I couldfeelit within me, granting me strength and a comforting solidity. I imagined that this is how a junkie must feel after a long-awaited hit, except I was clearheaded.
Marek granted me a tiny smile. “It helps that you are who you are. This change you’ve undergone, it alters a great many things but not your essence. Your core self remains. When someone with a faulty core is suddenly given immense power and a hearty appetite, he will use that power to hurt humans. But when the core is sound….” He shrugged. “Then so is the vampire.”
“I’ve become the ethical monster? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“What you are is still within your own control, just as it’s always been. You simply have different parameters on what you can do.”
“Parameters.” The room was too small for pacing, especially with the bedding taking up most of the floor space, so I opened the door and walked into the kitchen. That room had a few small, high windows, much like the ones in Buckley’s basement, but even in the office, I’d sensed that it was night. Still holding the gun, I padded around, catching the scents of every long-ago meal prepared here. Marek watched me from the office doorway.
Eventually I paused to lean back against a counter, its metal the same cool temperature as my skin. Looking down at the gun, I wondered how it felt when a bullet entered a vampire’s heart. Not as painful as what Buckley had done to me, I was sure of that. But the vamps I’d shot in the past certainly hadn’t enjoyed the experience. They’d reacted much the same way as humans would—shock and terror—before the bits of wood did their job and the vamps were destroyed.
I glanced at Marek. “What if I decide I enjoy murdering humans?”
“Because it’s inevitable a monster will make that decision.”
Using my newfound speed, I rushed to him, but he didn’t even flinch. “Don’t you think I’ve learned my lesson by now?” I growled. “Humanity—or lack thereof—doesn’t define whether someone’s a monster. Buckley was human.”
He hesitated a moment before reaching to stroke my jaw. “Then why are you afraid you’ll become a murderer?”
