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With her free hand, she brushed the hair off his forehead and caressed his cheek, tipping his face to look at her.
"There's something else, isn't there?"
"Yes." He led her back to the chair, then took his turn pacing. There was no easy way to say this, but he was determined that she hear nothing but the truth from him. "My father seduced the daughter of a Voodoo priestess, and in revenge the old woman laid a curse upon him and all of his future descendants. They would live forever surrounded by death, sharing the last hideous moments of those they loved as they died in agony."
He ran a hand over his face, appalled to discover he was trembling. The memories...
"That's how I learned of my telepathic skills. I felt the bayonet pierce Etienne's lung and his bubbling struggle for breath. I felt the bullet shatter Jean-Michel's leg, and the amputation fever that burned his life away. I was with my mother when she learned of their deaths and stepped blindly into traffic, and felt the horses' hooves that trampled her. I felt every blow of the drunken gamblers that beat Roderick to death. I choked and sweated with my sister as she succumbed
to Cholera. I dared to hope that the curse had run its course, that I had gained enough control to defeat it, but I felt every moment of Olivia's pain and frustration as she wasted away."
Desmond closed his eyes, unwilling to see the expression on Rebecca's face as he told her, "I will not cause your death."
The gentle touch of her hand on his arm startled him. He turned to find her smiling sadly at him.
"The members of your family died tragically, but you didn't cause those deaths. You didn't hold the bayonet or drive the coach."
"But I killed Olivia."
"What do you mean, you killed her? I thought you said she had a hereditary form of cancer. Or did she request euthanasia?"
"She had cancer."
"Then how did you kill her?" Rebecca was staring at him, clearly not comprehending what he was trying to say. He sighed, wishing she would just take his word, and not make him relive the pain. But she wouldn't give up until she understood everything about his curse.
"Doctor Chen explained to you about Gillian's unique blood chemistry?"
"She has both the regular leukocytes and something he called neukocytes."
"Yes." Desmond shoved his hands into his pockets and paced back and forth in front of the desk. "In normal humans, the leukocytes are part of the immune system that identifies foreign bodies in the blood stream, and marks them for destruction. Another function of the same system is to identify cells that have been damaged beyond repair, and mark them for destruction, as well. When the number of damaged cells being destroyed outpaces the number of new cells being created, you see the affects of age."
"Since you obviously haven't aged, that can't be how it works for you," she interrupted him.
"You're right. The neukocytes do more than just identify foreign bodies in the blood stream. They convert them, so they are no longer foreign. If the conversion succeeds, the bloodstream carries them to where new cells are needed. If the conversion fails, the leukocytes mark them as unhealthy and they are destroyed." He raised his hand, forestalling her next interruption. "If a normal human being is infected with my cursed blood, the neukocytes begin their work in a new host. They begin trying to transform the blood cells they encounter. If the person's own immune system is functioning correctly, the neukocytes will be destroyed before they can cause much damage. But if they take hold..."
He shut his eyes, seeing a memory of Olivia, wasted by her disease, needing his help to hold Gillian in her arms. He couldn't let that happen to Rebecca.
"So we'll practice safe sex," Rebecca said. "I don't see what the problem is."
"Don't you?" He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk top. "What about Las Vegas?"
She shrunk back into the chair. "Las Vegas?"
"Yes. Rebecca, you are a telepath." He cut off her protests before they were fully formed. "While we were making love, you tapped into my thoughts. My desires. For blood."
He saw understanding dawning in her eyes, and a growing horror spread across her face.
"Yes. You understand now. When your mental powers remained dormant, I could shield my thoughts and contain my blood lust. But now, the risk is too great that you will be overcome by the desires I've struggled for years to subdue. If that happens, and you drink my blood...."
He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, fearing that saying the words might give them the power to come true.
"What if it's already too late?" She raised her fingers to her lips, as if she could feel the blood on them even now. He seized on the change of subject with relief.
"We would know by now. The first sign of infection is a raging fever, a few hours after contamination. You worried me when you passed out in the car on the trip home, but it wasn't a fever, just exhaustion."
Tilting her head to the side, she studied him in silence. He knew that look. She was fitting together facts, building a story. Any moment now, she'd test her theory by asking him a question. And he was sure it would be a question he didn't want to answer. It was.
"Are you speaking from experience?"
