“My Maker.” Gravely, like sayingthe sky is blueorwater’s wet. “Antinous, the one who granted me the Dark Gift.”
I’m learning a lot of fresh terminology.“Dark Gift.” Layla cast around for a good place to have more discussion, but there was only the one chair. The bed didn’t seem quite safe, but she marched to its foot, dropped to the floor crisscross-applesauce again, and politely indicated a nearby patch of carpet for if he wanted to join her. “Like, I’m going to turn into a biter, too?” Would that make this ‘Father’ her grandfather?
Another extremely uncomfortable thought. Especially since she was still a little tender downstairs, so to speak.
“You are different.” Max glided to the spot she pointed at and sank down into another easy, fluid crouch, graceful and controlled through the entire motion. If he was nervous at having his back to the door, he didn’t show it. “Leman do not acquire even an elder’s strength and speed, though a fledgling’s is more than sufficient. You will never suffer the bloodcraze or have to fear the killing sleep. And as you age, you will not ossify.”
“Hold on.” She raised a hand, briefly, as if in the classroom, and put it down as soon as she realized the complete ridiculousness of the gesture. “You’ve gotta explain this lemon thing. Please?” A belated tack-on addition, she didn’t want to sound pushy.
Go figure, she was sitting in a vampire’s sweatpants and treating him like one of Shawn’s hunters, asking for clarification on demimonde technical slang. On the one hand, it was clearly working to keep him occupied, and adding to her store of knowledge as a bonus.
On the other, it probably wouldn’t do to get overly comfortable with this… with him. His gaze, dark and still, hadn’t left her once since he hopped up on the bed.
Being watched this closely was unsettling as fuck.
“Leman are very rare.” Carefully, visibly choosing each word as he sank further, finally coming to rest sitting, mirroring her own position. “Most sanguinant spend centuries without ever confirming your kind exists, though we are on the whole instructed very carefully by our Makers or elders. It is part of the Ecologue—ah, what every member of the Blood should know.” His hands settled loosely on his knees. Straight-backed as a dancer, he didn’t seem uncomfortable in the least wearing boots while sitting tailor-fashion.
Rare. Okay.Layla wasn’t sure that was a compliment. She braced herself against the bed; it was getting to be a habit.
“For a normal sanguinant, the moment one receives the Gift, there is danger.” Recited softly, like he’d given this speech before. “A fledgling may glut and suffer bloodcraze, and that often brings true-death. When dawn loses its grip, then one is an Elder and the risk of glut is much reduced, though still present. Of more concern is the killing sleep, when a sanguinant goes dormant, sinking into lethargy. Starvation occurs then, and can bring true-death. Age adds strength and experience butalso ossification—a rigidity, physical and otherwise. We become inflexible, apathetic, numb. And that?—”
“Brings true death,” Layla supplied, eager to be a good student. Research was her primary role, after all. “Right?”
“Indeed. Very good.” A nod, and a slight smile. He was so straight-faced, the tiny movement had an outsized effect. “The only cure is a leman.Youwill not suffer glut, nor killing sleep, nor ossification. And the sanguinant who claims you, bonds with you, is freed of those dangers.”
Wow. That’s… that’s something. “Wait a second. Are you sure? You’ve never seen a leman—” Pronouncing it very carefully earned her another nod. She was making progress, good for her. Even if her head felt a little light, squeezing all this new stuff inside. “A leman before, right? So how do you know?”
“It is,” he said, quietly but with finality, “unmistakable. I knew the moment I scented you.”
Maybe that was why he’d stopped in the street and looked at her? “Was that when Ben shot at your crew?”So did Steve and Ack, though. Can’t blame just one person.
Here she was, sitting across from a monster, trying to be fair and precise like in post-op debrief. At least he wasn’t chugging beer and blaming her for everything under the sun.
“Very nearly, though it did not matter.” Vampire Max was back to straight-faced, nearly robotic information-giving, though his accent was getting a lot better. All in all he seemed a little looser now, though she couldn’t decide if that was a bonus or a new danger. “In that moment, everything changed.”
Is that good? Tell me it’s good. She had a sinking feeling it was exactly, precisely the opposite. “Changed how?”
“To find a leman is a miracle, sweet Leila. Immediately upon doing so, a sanguinant will take the prize. All other considerations are secondary at best.First the bite, then the claiming.” The final sentence had a strange rhythm even forhis accented delivery, a proverb or something translated from another language.
This is a lot to take in. “Let’s leave that for a second.” Her voice shook. “How old are you, anyway?”
His curly head cocked; he considered the question. Was it rude to ask? His right forefinger twitched, and she realized he appeared to be silently counting.
Go figure, biters looked incredibly human while doing mental math.
“Two millennia?” he finally said, not quite sure. “A little more. Time blurs, after a certain point, and one ceases to care.”
Wait a minute. “You’re… twothousand…” It wasn’t possible. He had to be joking; did he only mean two hundred? That was incredible too, but somehow a little less outlandish.
Her head hurt. The sensation wasn’t physical; the mind lodging in her brain-meat attempted to wrap itself around what he was saying, failed, tried again. Whythiswas the biggest hurdle after everything else she couldn’t tell, or maybe she’d just lost the ability to absorb strangeness all at once.
“Give or take. Age often brings strength, but is not the only consideration.” His eyelids dropped slightly, and his gaze turned distant instead of scorchingly attentive. “I have known for some while that I surpass my Maker, but it was… again, difficult to care. There was no reason to do anything other than follow orders. I am a soldier, sweet Leila.”
Good Lord. She wished he’d stop calling hersweet; it wasn’t as dismissive as some nicknames, but still. “I’ve hung out with Army guys,” Layla managed, an utterly inadequate response. How the hell was she supposed to deal with this?
“Hm.” Momentary brooding fled, and the biter’s dark eyes were now hot and direct. “I was sent to kill the holder of this territory. The elder we met last night was one of my fellows—a serjeant, perhaps, you would call it? I believe Father has foundme superfluous to requirements, and may very well suspect I would not succumb to a single junior. In any event, I have a leman now. I will not let you be taken.”
Holder of this territory—he’s got to mean Griskov. A sergeant, huh.But that wasn’t the most concerning concept here. “Taken?”
