‘Tatiana meant for me to wither into dust in that dungeon. Lord Ivan was there that night. He helped her. So was another vampire, but he’s already been taken care of.’
‘Good to know.’ He’d had no idea Tatiana had such a history, but she was definitely capable of everything Mal had said.
Mal stepped away from the wall and moved a few paces toward the house. ‘Do you know the extent of my curse?’
‘Just that you are cursed. That’s all Chrysabelle told me.’
Mal nodded. ‘I’m sure she’ll fill you in over time, but I’ll save her the trouble. I can’t drink from the vein without killing my victim. The voice of every soul I take inhabits my head.’ He yanked his sleeve up. Black script covered his skin. ‘I wear their names on my skin.’ He pulled his sleeve back down. ‘I’ve drunk from the vein once since Tatiana’s curse. That soul manifested as a ghost who haunts me to this day.’ His gaze dropped to the ground for a moment. ‘She did anyway. She’s gone now. Killed because of Tatiana.’ He shook his head. ‘Long story.’
‘Why are you telling me all this?’ Not that Creek wanted him to stop. Tatiana was his enemy, and it was good to know more about her and what she was capable of, but Mal’s sharing so easily was unexpected.
Mal pointed toward the house. ‘Because Chrysabelle wants us to get along. I know you’re here to kill me. Up until a few weeks ago, I would have painted a target on my chest and opened my arms to your bolt. I’m not that creature anymore. Because of her. My life, such as it is, has purpose now. To protect her.’
‘I’m not here to kill you, unless you present a threat to her. And protecting her is part of my job as well.’
‘Then we meet on common ground.’
‘Even where Tatiana is concerned.’ Creek stuck his hand out. ‘Truce.’
Mal stared at his hand. ‘Why should I trust you?’
‘You shouldn’t – not any more than I trust you – but we have the same purpose.’ He tipped his head toward the house. ‘And the same enemies.’
Mal stilled for a moment like he was thinking, then shook Creek’s hand. ‘Agreed.’
They went back to leaning on their respective sides of the gate, passing the time without a word until Mal spoke. ‘What were the seven years for?’
‘Killed my father.’
A few seconds ticked by. ‘Any particular reason?’
‘He was choking my sister to death.’
Mal gave him a sideways glance. ‘She okay?’
‘She is now.’
Mal nodded. ‘Tatiana hates me because I didn’t save Sofia’s life by turning her into a vampire.’ He shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Like I would damn my daughter’s soul.’
‘Hard decision.’ Creek wasn’t sure what else to say to that, so he chose nothing. Mal didn’t need platitudes. The silence stretched out between them until a pale figure appeared in the upstairs windows.
‘Speaking of decisions … ’ Mal pushed off the wall. ‘I just made one.’
Chrysabelle knew she should be in bed, resting, but instead she stood at the French doors that led from the master suite to the large balcony overlooking the front of the estate. With the lights off and if she stood angled just so, her night vision was still sharp enough to pick out the two dark figures standing on either side of the property’s gate.
If she walked outside, she could see them even better. But she wasn’t going to do that because she didn’t want to hear them arguing and threatening to kill each other again. How could two intelligent men be so stupid?
They had to find a way to share this world, because she didn’t want either of them hurt. They were both good men at heart. Just very different. And equally interesting.
Creek because of his humanity and because she believed he was a warrior on the side of right. The kind of man she should align herself with. She wanted to know him better.
With Mal it was different. They’d been through so much together, and where Creek was a connection to her mortal side, Mal connected her to the side that definitely wasn’t. She also believed she served as a link for Mal to his long-forgotten humanity. Mal had fought for her. She wanted to fight for him, too. Even if they weren’t currently seeing eye to eye.
And lastly, both men were powerful reminders of the light and dark that lived within her. She had moments when one side definitely pulled her more strongly than the other. Losing touch with one might push her over a line she could never uncross.
She feared that like she feared losing her comarré identity. No matter how much she wanted to leave it behind and become a modern woman the way her mother had, there was comfort in the routines and traditions. It was all she’d known, and for all those years, comarré life had provided her with guidelines and boundaries. Breaking away meant making decisions based on feelings, not rules. Feelings she’d been trained to subvert.
Making those kinds of decisions also meant accepting the consequences when things went wrong.
Things like what might happen with Mal if she gave him a chance at her heart. Or if she chose to get to know Creek better. Both of which appealed to her.
There were more reasons that that, she knew, but those reasons, those feelings … she had no room for them. No desire to stir them up and acknowledge that her emotions concerning these two men were untried and unfamiliar and wholly frightening.