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Mircea was hiding his secret from the vampire community, lest his dhampir daughter be used against him. He had enemies, as all masters did. Kidnapping her could put pressure on him; killing her would hurt him. There were those who would like to do both.
Thus, discretion was needed, despite the fact that he had received permission for her to grow up. Dhampirs were supposed to be killed on sight, but he had traded another life for hers. A woman had tried to usurp the consul’s position, and failed, thanks to him. That and helping his superior to obtain the consulship in the first place had made him a rising star in the vampire world.
But even stars had to obey the law.
And time was running out.
I rose and went to the window, needing to move. I also needed to return to our body; I was draining myself this way. But I was reluctant.
It wasn’t my body.
It wasn’t my life.
I looked for my reflection in the window, but of course, it wasn’t there. I stared out at the empty street, feeling unreal, imaginary. Like the ghost that I sometimes wondered if I was turning into.
Perhaps I should. I could fly into the sky and just keep going, until my power gave out and my essence dissipated on the wind. That might be better for everyone, in the end.
Only it wouldn’t be. Because the consul’s forbearance was at an end. Mircea had kept doing her favors, working tirelessly to shore up her government, and in return, had obtained extension after extension on the initial pardon. But she had informed him last month that there would be no more. Dory was an adult now, and a danger to the vampire community. At the end of this year, he had to kill her or release her—which the consul assumed would amount to the same thing.
It was probably why he had exploded on me the way that he had. Even through the pain, I could see that. He had formulated a plan to keep her safe, to erase her memories and to plant in her mind—and thus in the minds of any vampires who read her thoughts—the idea that the two of them had long been estranged. That he didn’t care about her, that she was nothing more than a mild embarrassment, and that killing her would avail them nothing.
But while that might keep his enemies off her back, plenty of dhampirs died who were not well connected. And the more people he had watching her, trying to protect her, the more likely he was to lead his enemies straight to her. Or to alert the consul that he was defying her orders, and have the senate itself put a bounty on her head.
Mircea was in agony, not knowing what to do, and I had just made it worse.
I moved back to the bed.
I put a hand out to touch the shining fall of hair. She stirred slightly, as if she had felt me. Perhaps she had.
Mircea had blocked us from each other, made it impossible for us to communicate, even though we shared a mind. I could have circumvented that, had I wished. Could have taken another body to speak with her, could have written her a note . . .
And say what? I thought angrily. Draw her into my world, and cause her even more pain? This wasn’t her fault, any more than it was mine. But she would blame herself, I knew she would. There was no solution to our problem, and I was tired of bringing her only sorrow.
I slipped back inside our skin, and felt her shiver a little at the sensation. She absently pulled up the coverlet, as if that was the cause. And then, still half asleep, she paused, looking at her reflection in the window glass.
But, this time, it was my face that looked back.
We stared at each other for a long time. She looked like a child still, with pink cheeks, tumbled hair and sleep filled eyes. His child, with the same high cheekbones, fine arched brows and expressive mouth. They were so alike . . .
I did not know what she was thinking, but I flashed to an image of Mircea as he had been when he entered our mind that last time: a lone warrior determined to battle a monster for his daughter’s life. He had been grim and resolute, but fearful, too. Fearful of me.
But not for himself. He had been afraid that he would fail Dory, as he had failed our mother. He had not known what I was, but he would face me, nonetheless, even if it meant his life, because she had no one else.
Only he was wrong, I decided.
She had me.
Ray made a slight sound, and brought my thoughts back to the present. Venice faded away and I was glad to see it go. I wanted no more of it tonight.
“You stayed alive to save her?” Ray asked, as if unsure of what he’d seen. Or perhaps of whether it was all right to ask.
I nodded in reply to both. “It gave me something to live for, to fight for. I stayed alive to save her, but in giving me a purpose, she also saved me. I do not think I would have made it, otherwise.”
“But . . . how did you always know when she was in trouble? If you two were on opposite schedules—”
I took a drink from the fast depleting canteen. “I discovered that I could take over when Dory was frightened or overwhelmed or excessively tired. Pain, panic and exhaustion shut down her brain enough that I could slip through the cracks, and take over.”
“And throw down.”
