“He did betray me,” I say vehemently. “He said it was intimate and that he didn’t allow just anyone to bite him. I believed him.” I do realize here how petty I sound now in light of my current circumstances. But the feelings of desolation I felt back then are hard to get over, even after this many centuries. Maybe I’m just used to them? Maybe it is time to get over it?
“Okay, okay. I get it. And the second time? What happened then?” he asks.
“Do I really have to go through this? It’s not fun for me to relive these hideous memories,” I whine.
“Just run it down for me.”
“Fine, we were together for about two hundred and fifty years in Renaissance Italy. What a time to be alive,” I say with a smile, remembering the good times. “He had, uhm, rescued me, you could say, from a bad situation and we were together again, and happy. Or so I thought. By this time, I had obviously got over my naiveté and took other lovers as did he, but we spent every night that he was there together. I was so excited and happy that he seemed to finally be making a commitment to me. Then one day out of the blue, he disappeared. Left the castle and me in Tuscany and didn’t return. He left word with the servants that he had left and wasn’t likely to return for many months. I was devastated. I knew nothing about why he’d left and true to his word, he didn’t return. After two months, I gave up waiting and left. I went to England, where I eventually found Devon.”
“All’s well that ends well, then,” he says with a smile, which turns into a frown when he mutters, “You also took other lovers?”
“I suppose you could say that now,” I say to his first comment. “At the time it was awful.” I choose, perhaps wisely, perhaps not, to ignore his last comment.
“Do you know now why he left?” he asks.
I shake my head. “He mentioned something about Michelangelo, but it didn’t make sense. I just forgot to ask in the aftermath and it’s never come up again since. Kind of a taboo topic, I guess.”
“Don’t you think you should find out?” he inquires.
“Hm, it’s not really important anymore.”
“Obviously, it is to you,” he presses.
I shrug. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay, my love?”
He agrees and shuts his mouth.
“Moral of the story is, we should always be open and honest, and we should be just fine.” I smile sweetly, knowing even then that I am keeping something huge from him. The gods, I’m such a hypocrite.
“I agree,” he says. “Is there anything else I should know? You say immortal, but is that really the case?”
“Well, sort of. A stake won’t kill an Initial and neither will beheading or fire. In fact, it’s unclear what will kill an Initial, but we know someone did it once. The rest of us are varying degrees of vulnerability,” I say.
“Huh. Having said that though, I suppose it would take an older, stronger Vampire to get the best of you,” he grins at me with pride.
I chuckle. “That is true.”
“I would love to have a sparring session with you,” he says.
“You know I would kick your arse from here to next week?” I boast.
He laughs. “Yes, I know. I find it kind of hot,” he says seductively and kisses me. Everything else falls away as we lose ourselves in each other.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
T he next day, Cole asks, “When are we going down to see the team?”
“Tomorrow, during Qualifying,” I reply.
He nods and anything he has to say is interrupted by a loud knock on the door. I rise to answer it, wondering who it could be at this hour.
Pulling it open, I see CK and Nico standing there.
“My sweet,” CK smiles at me and swoops down to kiss me.
“CK, I wasn’t expecting you until later,” I say, confused.
“I need to speak to you,” he says all business-like. “Alone.”