He grabbed her hand. “You know that’s not true.”
“Then where the hell is she?”
August
He was playing again. He often did right before dawn. Relaxing things. Slow melodies by Bach or Satie or Chopin. Things he knew she loved. She wondered if it was an attempt to quiet her and let her rest, even though she rarely took comfort in sleep anymore. There were only a few hours a day that she was able to sleep. She didn’t tire, but she did envy the peaceful oblivion that slumber had once provided.
And dreaming. She missed dreaming.
Beatrice approached the piano, sliding next to Giovanni on the narrow bench he had pushed back to fit his long legs. He didn’t cease playing the Nocturne when he leaned over and kissed her.
“Hello.”
“Hey.”
“Want me to show you a few things?”
“Nope.”
“A little Mozart melody?” His fingers tripped up the keys. “You’ll be amazed by how fast you pick it up.”
“Still nope.”
September
“How could you?” She threw him into the face of the cliff, tossing him as if he weighed nothing when he finally caught up with her on the road back to the valley.
“He was old. He was going to die within a few weeks, Beatrice.”
She paced back and forth in the small clearing. “But I didn’t need to be the one to kill him.” Streaks of crimson tears marred her perfect white skin. The rain beat down on them and the wind whipped through the small pass.
He tried to speak in a low, calming voice. “You broke out of the bloodlust much quicker than I had imagined. You’re doing very well.”
“But I still killed him, Gio! I did. And you stood there and let me. You stood by and let me kill that old man doing nothing more than sitting in his garden.”
Giovanni slowly stood, still keeping his distance. “If he had been in good health, you would not have killed him. But he was sick, Tesoro. Surely, you must have tasted it in his blood. He was in pain. Your amnis calmed him as you drank. He didn’t feel anything.”
She screamed and pulled at her hair. “How could you let me kill him?”
“It was a mercy.”
“No!” she yelled and rushed him, knocking him over and pummeling his face. She loosed her rage on her mate until he grabbed her hands. He could barely contain her; Beatrice had become almost immeasurably strong. “Why? Why did you let me murder him?”
With a surge, he rolled over until she was lying under him, sobbing in the rain as the bloody tears ran down her face and into the mud.
“This is why! Do you understand? Look at me, Beatrice.” He finally caught her narrowed eye and she bared her teeth at him. “Look at me and listen right now. Did I let you kill that old man? Yes, and I’ll tell you why.”
He took a softer hand and brushed at the tears that stained her cheeks. “Because one day, very soon, it’s not going to be a sick stranger in a garden that tempts you.” He sat back and pulled her to sit in front of him, the rain still beating on their backs.
“Someday very soon, it’s going to be Benjamin. Or your grandmother. Or Caspar or Dez or Matt. It’s going to be someone you love. An innocent stranger on a train or walking down the street at night. And the temptation is going to knock you over and every instinct in you is going to be screaming to take and drink and not to stop because there is nothing in the human world more powerful than you. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He grabbed the collar of her soaked overcoat and pulled her closer. She still stared at him with sullen, tear-filled eyes as he continued.
“And when that moment comes, I want you to remember how you feel right now. I want you to remember this moment for the rest of your existence because that is what will keep the humans around you safe from the monster that lives inside you. That lives inside all of us.”
Her eyes were dull as she stared at him. Her hands limp and lying at her sides.
“I hate you.”
“I love you.”
October
“Beatrice?”
She glanced at him, but didn’t speak.
“Have you fed tonight?”
He looked so calm as he wrapped his needless scarf around his neck and prepared to go down to the lodge for Ben’s lessons.
She nodded.
“Call if you need anything.”
She shrugged and turned back to the fire. They hadn’t exchanged blood since she had killed the old man. Her logical brain understood why Giovanni had allowed her to do it, but the gaping void in her chest, the hollow that never seemed to be filled, was only growing deeper the longer she let her anger fester.
And she couldn’t see a way to bridge the gap that had opened between them.
An hour later, there was a knock at the door. So focused on the fire, she failed to register the approaching energy. A storm system had moved into the valley, bringing thunder, lightning, and causing her senses to go haywire in the charged air.
Beatrice rose and went to the door, gasping when she recognized the smell of cardamom on the other side. She flung it open and Tenzin was there, silent and soaked from the rain. Her shorn hair hung in thick chunks around her face as she waited on the porch.
Simultaneous rage and love reared up in Beatrice. She raised her hand to strike, but Tenzin only reached out and caught her fist before it made contact. Beatrice shook, then she crumbled to the ground, sobbing out her grief, anger, and heartbreak as her father’s mate knelt down and gathered her in an embrace. Tenzin kicked the door closed and tucked Beatrice’s head under her chin, rocking her back and forth as Beatrice clutched at her dirty white robes.