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"What about Karinna's house?" Vega asked. "Her car? Clothes? All that stuff?"
Rourke shrugged. "Do with it what you will."
"Well, legally, I suppose it will all go to the state," Vega remarked.
"I am not concerned about her house or anything else," Rourke said. "Only the painting."
Vega nodded. "Right. If we don't hear from you in a couple of days..."
"Then you will know I failed."
"Don't worry," Vega said. "We'll take care of everything."
A short time later, Rourke bid farewell to Vega, hugged Ana, and left their house, eager to return to Karinna. His plan had to work, he thought desperately. In spite of his brave words to Vega and Ana, in spite of the promise he had made to Karinna, he wasn't sure he could keep his vow to remain with her inside the painting. The very thought of returning to such a life filled him with dread. In spite of that, what he had told Ana Luisa was the truth. He couldn't turn his back on Karinna. She had freed him from a hellish existence, and no matter what the cost, if it was at all possible, he would return the favor.
And if he couldn't? How could he go back to living in a painted world, even one shared with the woman he loved?
How could he not?
Rourke shook such thoughts from his mind. He had to believe his plan would succeed.
A woman coming out of a drugstore saved him the trouble of hunting. He mesmerized her with a glance and took what he needed, giving little thought to the woman who stood pliant in his arms. He was after sustenance, not pleasure, and he fed quickly, then made his way back to Karinna's house, and into the painting.
As he had before, he paused on the lakeshore for a moment just to look at her, thinking that no artist, no earthly work of art, could capture the natural beauty of the woman herself.
A thought took him to her side.
"Karinna, I am here beside you."
"Rourke?" He heard the barely controlled panic in her voice. "Rourke, help me! I'm afraid I'm losing myself. Today, I couldn't even remember my name."
"Let me bring you across, sweeting. It is the only way."
"I don't want to be what you are."
Though he would have said it was impossible, a single tear slid down her cheek. When she spoke again, her voice was little more than a whisper. "Rourke, I want you to destroy the painting."
"No! Never! Do not ask such a thing of me."
He captured her tear on the tip of his finger and pressed it to his lips. They had been through much together. He loved her. He thought she loved him, though neither of them had ever spoken the words aloud. He swore under his breath. Being a part of his life had brought her nothing but trouble and pain. There was no guarantee that that would change in the near future. He would never really belong in this time and place. As long as she was mortal, there would always be a gulf between them that neither of them could bridge. Yet another reason to bring her across.
"I am asking," she said quietly. "You said there was no third choice, but there is. I can't feel anything, so it shouldn't hurt. I'll just cease to exist."
"No! No, no, no."
"If you love me..."
He heard the quiet desperation in her voice, the underlying note of fear and anguish.
If you love me...
He had heard that true love was unselfish, that one who loved deeply and sincerely put the needs and wants of his beloved before his own desires. But how could he destroy Karinna without destroying himself, he thought bleakly. And then he frowned. Perhaps that was the answer. He could ask Vega to burn the painting. In her current state, Karinna would not be aware of what was happening. As for himself, everyone knew vampires burned quickly. The pain, however excruciating it might be, would not last long.
He shook the thought from his mind. He would not destroy the painting. He would not destroy whatever chance of happiness they might have. He would not let Vilnius win.
"Rourke?"
"I cannot, sweeting." He shook his head. "I cannot destroy you, not while there is a chance that we can break the curse and be together."
"I know what you're thinking, and I'll hate you for it. You said I could choose."
He brushed a kiss across her lips. "Hate me if you will. Hate me as much as you wish for as long as you wish, but let us hope you can do it on the other side of this accursed glass."
She couldn't give voice to her unhappiness, but he knew she was weeping inside. Her anguish tore at his heart, but he couldn't let it weaken his decision, not now. It was their only hope. No matter how remote the chance of success, he had to try. Even if she never forgave him, even if he could never again hold her in his arms, he had to try.
He didn't put her to sleep this time. The moment he linked his mind to hers, she fought against him, but his will was too strong for her to resist.
Wanting to make the change as pleasant for her as possible, he mentally carried her into the cottage and lowered her onto the soft mattress, then covered her body with his own.
"No! No!" She struggled against him, but he held her down easily. And then he kissed her, ever so slowly and tenderly. Her nails raked his face, her fists pummeled his chest. He made no move to protect himself as she bucked and twisted beneath him, but as his kisses deepened, her own body betrayed her.
His tongue laved her neck, and then, as gently as he could, he pierced the tender flesh below her left ear with his fangs, and drank. He closed his eyes as her life's essence flowed into him, thick and hot and sweet. He drank her life and her memories, drank until her heartbeat slowed, and she was at the point of death.
Pulling back, Rourke licked the wounds in her throat to seal them, then made a shallow gash in his left wrist and lifted it to her lips.
"Drink, love." It was a command, softly spoken, but a command nonetheless, one she was helpless to deny.
Caught up in his preternatural power, she did as bidden.
He threw back his head in ecstasy, reveling in the touch of her mouth against his flesh, in the hope that their mingled blood would have the power to restore her life and, hopefully, break the wizard's enchantment.
She tried to cling to his arm when he drew his wrist away, but she was no match for his greater strength. He ran his tongue over the wound in his wrist, then cradled her to his chest.
He held her close as long as he dared, then released his hold on her mind. Exhausted by what he had done to her, Karinna fell into a deep, deathlike sleep.
As the sun's light chased the darkness from the sky, Rourke regretfully left the painting. It would have been pleasant to keep his mind linked to hers, to continue the charade that they were lying side by side on the bed in the cottage, but he couldn't remain.
