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“Did he? Such an old goat. ‘Mortalized.’ I guess I did. I got bored, I suppose.…”
“Bored?” Schuyler said coldly.
“Yeah. I don’t know, sucking blood and all that…seemed so…” She shuddered. “Well, it’s not really good for you, is it? All that protein? I mean, I’m a vegan now.…” she said weakly.
A vegan-freaking-vampire. Schuyler decided she had certainly heard it all.
“So you don’t…perform the Sacred Kiss?” asked Oliver.
“No. Haven’t needed one in centuries. Thought I’d fade away at first, and I did get brutally sick. I remember it was during the eighteenth century sometime, when I thought I would just fade away. But then I recovered, and I haven’t touched a drop since.”
Tilly hadn’t performed the Sacred Kiss in centuries. And neither had Schuyler for at least a year, ever since she’d left Oliver to be with Jack. Come to think of it, when she and Jack had been together, neither of them had taken familiars. She had forgotten the taste of blood and she had survived.
“By the way, we prefer the term ‘gone native,’” Tilly said.
“We?” asked Oliver.
“Are there so many of you?” Schuyler asked.
Tilly tapped her finger against her teacup. “Yeah. Tons. It’s not something the Repository or the Covens or the Regis ever wanted to accept. But yeah, a lot of us aren’t living as vampires anymore. We don’t cycle, we don’t reincarnate.”
“It’s just another word for Enmortal, isn’t it?” Oliver mused, meaning the vampires who chose not to rest but remain awake for their immortal life.
“Yeah. Maybe. I guess. Except…”
“We get it, no blood, no human familiars. Do you still have fangs even?” Schuyler asked, wondering what had become of her own. She hadn’t felt them in so long.
“Yeah, they’re still there. Sometimes they pop up, but you learn to control them.” Tilly put her coat on. “Anyway, I’m sorry I can’t help. Lucas said things are looking bad for the Covens. Everyone’s gone underground again. But maybe that’s for the best.”
“For the best?” Schuyler asked, an edge in her voice.
“Seems unfair, doesn’t it? The whole vampire-elite thing? What gave us the right? Maybe the Silver Bloods have a point. Maybe we’re useless, in the end. Who needs us?” She nodded. “Thanks for the tea. And for the suggestion on the masks. I’ll use them tomorrow.”
TWELVE
Tomasia (Florence, 1452)
is breath was sweet in her ear, his lashes soft on her cheek. “I give myself to you and accept you as my own,” Gio whispered, his voice low and trembling with emotion.
Tomi clasped her hands around his back and pulled him closer, and said the same words to him. With that vow they were bonded, just as they had been since time eternal.
She pulled him away from the window and into the bedroom. Gio had seen to everything—that morning Tomi had moved her small things to the new home they were to share. It was a palace in Florence, above the Arno. The room was aglow with a hundred tiny candles flickering in the dark. She smiled at him shyly, even as her breath quickened in excitement. He kissed her again, starting from her lips and toward the base of her neck, and she kissed him back, with an urgent passion that rose as they moved ever closer together.
She felt his warm hands reach for the straps of the simple blue dress she wore, and then his hands were on her skin. Soon they were lying on the bed together, and he was moving against her and she was pressed against him, and when she looked into his eyes, she saw that they were filled with love. He was so beautiful. She moved her body with his, quickening to his rhythm. His hands on her hands, holding them behind her head, his hips sliding against hers, the two of them joined, bound, together now, just as at the beginning of time.
“I’ve wanted this…I’ve wanted you so much, for so long,” he said, and kissed her fiercely now, biting her lip, and he pushed against her with a ferocity that excited and frightened her.
“I’ve wanted you too, so much,” she said, sitting up so that she could see him clearly, and show him just how much she loved him.
He pushed against her, harder and harder, faster and faster, and his strong hands on her waist gripped her so tightly she almost cried out in pain.
“I want to drink in every part of you,” he seethed, burying his face in her neck as he shuddered against her, slamming her body with his.
“Michael,” she murmured. “Michael, my love and my light.”
“Shhhh,” he whispered. “Shhhh…”
The next morning they were awoken by a barrage of fists on the door. “Gio? Tomi? Gio! Wake up!” The voice belonged to Bellarmine. He had been on watch the night before.
