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“I am not trying to erase you,” he snapped, keeping step at her side.
If he could read her thoughts what was the point in talking? Get the fuck out of my head, Nosferatu.
In her peripheral, she saw several other Amish people—vampires—whatever the hell they called them—working in the distance. Most of them were men.
She walked without pause for over twenty minutes, steaming inside and hoping to burn off some of her rage.
Her headache drilled into her temples and exhaustion consumed her. She stumbled and Christian held out a hand to steady her, but she jerked out of reach. “Don’t touch me.”
“I thought we were past this.”
Bone tired, she didn’t have the strength to fight with him. Shouldn’t she have superhuman strength or something? Maybe she was allergic to immortality because it wasn’t agreeing with her. Or maybe she’d stepped into some sort of vampire kryptonite, as every step seemed to sap away her strength.
Coming up on a lone, flat rock at the corner of a harvested field, she paused to catch her breath. Her body needed a rest and she nearly collapsed the moment her knees stopped pumping. Bunching up her skirt, she lowered her body to sit on the flat stone buried by time.
“What are you doing?” He glared down at her impatiently.
Her bones screamed as if someone were hammering them apart. “What’s it look like? I’m sitting.” Her fingers trembled as she yanked off her bonnet. Lying back on the cool rock, her arm draped weakly into the grass.
“Your hair must stay covered—”
“Fuck the fuck off, Christian!” She moaned as the pain in her head doubled. “Damn it.”
He rushed to her side, realizing something was wrong. “Are you ill?” He sat behind her, touching his fingers to her forehead and throat. “You’re burning up. How long has your head ached like this? You’re completely exhausted. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Too weak to battle him, she simply moaned and leaned into his support.
“You purposely hid your lethargy from me, Delilah.”
How could she have done that when she didn’t know how? Her tired gaze fell on a dandelion, snapped at the base of its stem. Her fingers gently rolled over the toppled flower, and the weed suddenly pulled upright, as if on an invisible thread. The stem mended itself back together and its yellow petals brightened.
She smiled weakly. Awesome.
The thrill was quickly shadowed by a wave of cramping. Doubling over, she moaned.
“Delilah!” Christian’s concern chiseled into her like a sharp pick and the last of her strength went toward soothing his worry.
“I’m okay…”
“You’re not. You must sleep now.”
Sleep sounded perfect. The world tilted and her head lolled as blissful oblivion swallowed her like the tide.
CHAPTER 13
Dane sat on the cool concrete of the Safe House cellar floor, as Council Hall quieted and the bishop and his family settled in for their evening meal above. The hushed sounds overhead played like a symphony of ordinary life.
A piece of silverware scraped along a plate. Larissa softly tittered as Eleazar complimented her cooking. The chatter of their daughter filled the background followed by the occasional outburst of affectionate laughter.
He envied their happiness, wondering if he’d ever find a kind of ordinary joy similar to theirs. But there was nothing ordinary about these folks, and after two years without his sister to talk to or a sense of home, he wouldn’t call that kind of contentment anything short of extraordinary.
The downfall of being a half-breed was his dependency on blood. He’d become reliant on his heightened senses, and his appetite for the stuff sometimes felt more like an addiction—something he relied on to keep up with the others, even though he’d never be their equal.
He’d become a slave to his nature, one of the reasons he invited Magdalene back into his bed as frequently as he did. After two years of feeding, he’d developed a keener sense of hearing, which helped him stay informed. Unfortunately, it also led to overhearing many things he wished he didn’t know.
Ignorance was no longer an option when he overheard the whispered opinions about his and Cybil’s presence on the farm. Nor was laziness.
Cybil was the only family—true family—he had left. And while the Hartzlers kindly included him in their supper plans, he would never fully belong at their table. But here, in this cold basement staring into his sister’s dark cell, he was at home.
The Order’s ongoing debate to find the most merciful path to end his deranged sister’s life had become his second enemy, the first being the monster lurking in the last cell—Isaiah Hartzler. Every day, Dane strategized ways to keep his sister alive and see Isaiah destroyed. Discussions were endless among The Elder’s Council. He supposed when a species lived forever, there was really no reason to rush to a decision.
Dane wasn’t here because of his faith or a desire to live a more simplistic life. He didn’t give a shit about agriculture, and he certainly didn’t scorn technology the way the others did. He was here for justice. He would stay on the farm as long as it took to see retribution delivered.
