Page 127 of Blood Stone
“Jesus christ!” Roman breathed. “Kate, what have you done?”
“Shh!” she said. “You’re my witness.” She pulled the knife out. It made an ugly, gasping sound. Garrett felt the blade withdraw, but he didn’t look down, because she was still watching him.
“Witness? To murder? Kate, what the fuck?” Garrett felt Roman grab him and it was then he realized that he was weakening, the healing unable to compensate fast enough.
“He won’t die,” she said softly. Flatly. “Watch.” She was scrabbling at his shirt. Yanking at it. Garrett heard buttons tear and pop as she pulled his shirt open, baring his stomach.
He sank to his knees. Roman was lowering him, rather than letting him fall.
Kate was still watching him. Monitoring.
“You know,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she whispered back.
He closed his eyes as the mix of horror and pain washed through him and let himself sink down until he was sitting on the carpet. Cold shivers rippled down his spine.
“Let me see,” Kate demanded.
“You like freak shows that much?” Garrett asked.
“I want to reallyknow.”
“You know,” Garrett assured her. “Do you demand to see the cock of every Jew you meet so you understand their essential Jewishness?”
She had her arms crossed tight around her middle, her hands fisted hard. “You’re the first…one I’ve met. The first real one.”
Garrett kept his gaze on Kate’s face. It was a struggle not to look away, toward Roman.
“No, he’s not, Kate,” Roman said. He didn’t speak particularly loudly, but he may as well have shouted, for Kate flinched like she had been shot. She turned her head to look at him, where he was now sitting on the very edge of the arm of the sofa, leaning forward, his hands gripped together. The knuckles were strained, Garrett saw. This was costing him a dram or two of courage.
Kate’s face was very pale. “Both of you? Are…?”
“Vampires,” Garrett finished for her. “Don’t be afraid of the word. It’s just a name.”
“Adrian—”
“My name is Roman.” He spoke in the same low, controlled tone. “AndAdrian. But those of the blood and who know of the blood call me Roman and have for centuries now.”
Garrett knew he had deliberately said the word ‘centuries.’ It was better to get all the strangeness and weirdness out and up front as soon as possible.
Kate registered the word, flinching yet again.
“My full name is Adrian Romanus Xerus,” he finished. “I was born in Constantinople in fourteen thirty-seven to a family that counted its blood -- and mine -- as nearly one hundred percent pure Roman, from one of the greatest Roman families on the Palatine and I had one of the best, most carefree childhoods a boy could have, until in fourteen fifty-three, Constantinople fell to the Turks.”
Kate’s eyes were large and her face had drained of nearly all colour. “The fifteenth century?” she said. She swivelled to look at Garrett. “And you?”
“Does it matter?” he asked. Her pallor was more of an issue right now. She wasn’t handling this well at all.
“Tell me,” she demanded.
“Fifteen seventy-four. Kincardine, in the Scottish Highlands. Clan Bruce.”
“So everything in your bio is true except the birthdate.” She was breathing hard. “You really drink blood?”
“We ingest it,” Garrett amended. “We don’t drink or eat anything. Not the way humans do. We need blood for nutrients and energy.”
“So you really do have the teeth, like in the movies?” Her voice was tighter. Higher.
