"How could you understand? You've never lost the person you loved because you just stood there," she said in a broken tone.
He laughed, long and bittersweet. No, he'd lost Giselda because he hadn't been fast enough. If he'd left a few hours sooner that morning, he would have been able to save her. And if she'd listened to him, she would never have been on that dangerous road in the first place. So close to the fighting, the area had been rife with deserters from Napoleon's army. He'd sent word to Giselda to wait so he could escort her to the chalet. She'd wanted to surprise him. Just one bad, well-intentioned decision, but it resulted in her rape and murder.
No, life wasn't fair in any world, human or otherwise.
"You have no idea how much I do understand."
She looked at him sharply, as if she were about to demand he elaborate. Spade waited. He never talked about Giselda, but he would to Denise, if she asked.
But she didn't question him further. She lowered her head, silently braced against the chill. Withdrawing into her shame just as he'd done all the years of the past long, lonely century and a half.
Comfort wouldn't help her. Neither would his pity. Only one thing had helped him pull back from the guilt and the grief.
"If you had that night to relive, would you still stay in the basement?"
Denise's head snapped up. "No. Not in a million years."
"Then you're no longer the same person," Spade said, his voice empty of emotion. "You've already proved that by taking more of the demon's essence instead of sacrificing one of your relatives. The woman before me is not the same one from that New Year's Eve. She might have failed, but you won't fail, will you?"
Denise stared at him, something hard and resolute growing in her eyes. "You bet I won't."
His admiration for her increased. It had taken him over a decade to have that same strength of will after his loss. Denise managed it in just over a year. Fresh determination coursed through him. He had to make her his. The battle to win her might be long, but was too important to surrender just because it wouldn't be easy.
"Are we going back to the hotel now?" Denise asked, her tears gone.
"We're not going back to the hotel. In fact, we'll be leaving Nevada shortly."
She frowned. "But the fake ID you got me and all the rest of our stuff is back in the hotel."
"I arranged to have our things packed up after we left, and I have both our identifications in my pocket."
Denise gave him a cynical look. "You had this whole thing orchestrated down to the last detail, didn't you?"
Not every detail, else you wouldn't have discovered me killing Black Jack. "I try to anticipate," was all Spade said.
She drew in a deep breath. "And now we go after Web?"
"Now we go after Web."
My new aliases are really racking up the frequent flyer miles, Denise thought as they exited the gangway of yet another plane. She'd flown more in the past two weeks than she had in the previous five years. Web, Spade said, was rumored to live in Monaco, so they were back overseas again. She didn't know what Spade intended to do once he found Web - ring the vampire's doorbell and ask if he could take the source of his supernatural drug trade? Or just kill everyone he came across until the last person standing was her elusive relative Nathanial?
She hadn't wanted to ask, to be truthful, because she already felt like a hypocrite. Here she'd judged Spade for killing Black Jack, but he'd only done it on her behalf. Anyone else he killed during this hunt for Nathanial would be on her behalf, too. By the time this was over, her hands would be just as bloody as his, no matter how she kept avowing her hatred of violence. That knowledge made Denise's emotions range from guilt, to frustration, to fear. She was just as much of a killer as Spade was, and it would only get worse if they were lucky. What if they couldn't find Web at all?
Or what if the next time Spade was in a fight to the death, he wasn't the one who walked away from it?
That thought had been festering in Denise through the past two days of flights and hotel stays. The full breadth of how dangerous retrieving Nathanial would be, even if they could find him, had been underscored by Black Jack's reaction to her blood. Spade initially hadn't wanted to take on the responsibility of looking for Nathanial because he might be another vampire's property. Now they knew it was so much worse than that. Nathanial wasn't just property; he was the sole source of a highly lucrative drug trade, so whoever had him wouldn't hesitate to kill to keep him. How could she ask Spade to keep trying to find Nathanial? Once he did, Spade's chances were about as grim as Randy's had been when he went up the stairs of that house on New Year's Eve.
In many ways, she was right back where she had been that night: huddled away from the danger, while someone else faced the monsters. She was through with that. Spade was right; she wasn't the same person she'd been before. If it was only her life on the line, she'd quit looking for Nathanial and just keep running from Raum, living - and dying - with the demon brands. But Raum wouldn't stop looking for Nathanial, and he'd murder every last member of her family trying to find him. If she stayed on this course, she might get Spade killed. If she didn't, she was condemning her entire family to death - all because an ancestor wanted supernatural power and sought it from a demon.
Whoever you are, Nathanial, Denise thought for the hundredth time, I hate your guts.
Spade collected their bags and they headed toward the airport exit. Once outside, Denise was surprised to see Alten and another person, presumably a vampire, leaning against a parked car.
"Spade," Alten said, smiling as he came forward.
Spade gave him a brief hug, handing their bags to the other man. Definitely a vampire, Denise decided, seeing him take all of them with one hand as if they weren't as heavy as she knew they were.
"Nice to see you again, Denise," Alten said, turning to her next.
"You, too," she replied, and meant it, having forgiven him for the whole bound-and-gagged thing the prior week when Raum came calling.
Spade opened the car door and Denise piled gratefully into the backseat. As long as wherever they were headed had a bed - hell, a floor - she'd be in heaven. It was never possible to get any real sleep on a plane. Their brief stints at hotels the past two days between flights had been more to shower and have Spade make his calls in private than to get any sleep. She was so tired; she'd be happy to fall asleep in the trunk, if she could fit around the luggage.
Spade introduced the blond vampire as Bootleg, making Denise wonder if he'd been changed over during Prohibition. Most vampires seemed to pick the oddest nicknames. She had yet to meet a John or a Sue.
"Everything is set for tonight," Alten said when they pulled away.
"Excellent," Spade replied, but Denise almost groaned out loud, sensing her plans for getting more than a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep had just been demolished.
She shoved back her disappointment. Spade probably wanted to sleep, too. And not spend all his time, money, and safety running around because of her.
"What's going on tonight?" she asked, glad her voice was calm instead of whiny.
Either her acting skills sucked or he could sense how exhausted she was, because Spade gave her a sympathetic glance. "Sorry, but tonight was the only evening we were sure he could attend. You can catch a nap beforehand, though."
"Who? Him?" she asked meaningfully, not wanting to say Web's name in case their search for him was something Bootleg and Alten weren't aware of.
"Indeed, Web will be there," Spade replied, squeezing her hand out of sight of Alten or Bootleg, who were in the front seat. "We'll want his formal approval if we intend to move to Monaco permanently, darling. It's such a small island. I wouldn't want to be at odds with any important locals."
That was the angle he was playing? A courteous, meet-the-neighbors approach? Oh sure, it might be all fangs and fruitcake welcome baskets at first, but then the danger to Spade and the killings would follow if Web did have Nathanial with him.
And Denise couldn't live with that.
Now wasn't the time to discuss it, though. Not with another two sets of undead ears in the car. She settled herself back into the seat, closing her eyes against the bright sunlight streaming in through the tinted windows. Her weariness was making her like a vampire; she would have turned the sun off like an annoying lamp, if she could.
Spade slid across the seat, folding her against his chest. Denise tensed for an instant, but then reminded herself of how she'd act if she really were in a relationship with him, as Alten and Bootleg believed. So she relaxed, settling herself against him with one arm around his lean stomach and the other behind his back, her head resting on his chest. His arms encircled her, hands lightly stroking her back, and she felt his chin rest on top of her head.
Deep contentment coursed through her. It wasn't just enjoyment stemming from her being tired and now situated in a far more comfortable position; it was the sense of rightness she felt in Spade's arms. Like she was where she was supposed to be, close to the only person she wanted to be with. It didn't even seem possible that a short time ago, she'd feared Spade.
Or maybe she hadn't. Maybe her panic attacks around vampires had been the only thing preventing her from focusing on the very real, very intense connection she felt to Spade. He understood her better than she understood herself at times. When Spade looked at her, she felt like she wasn't the broken, pitiful, helpless widow others saw. Spade saw a woman with a scarred past who had the strength to go on despite her loss. And more and more, Denise didn't look at Spade and see a vampire in a violent world - she saw a man who had the courage to take whatever life threw at him and come out on top.
She saw someone she wanted a future with.
The intensity of her emotions was shocking, but Denise was too tired to dwell on all the obstacles that made her feelings moot. She didn't have to worry about that now. Right now, she could sit here and soak up that wonderful sense of belonging, of caring, of rightness. After all the horror, grief, and pain of the past year plus, she needed this.
Then later, she'd do what had to be done.
Chapter Twenty
Spade stood over Denise. Her beautiful face was so peaceful in sleep, absent the worry, strain, and guilt that normally shadowed it. He loathed waking her, knowing she'd been running on sheer willpower for the past several days. She hadn't even stirred when he'd carried her from the car up to this room, placing her in bed. But he couldn't wait any longer.
"Denise." He couldn't resist touching her face and then drifting his hand down her neck. Her skin was like molten satin, the feel of it as addicting as her blood. "Denise, wake up."
Her eyes opened, an entrancing mixture of brown and green fixing on him. She blinked and then smiled sleepily.
"Hey. Are we here?"
"For four hours now," he replied, his mouth twitching as she glanced around, surprise stamped on her features when she realized she was in a bedroom instead of the car she'd fallen asleep in.
"Wow. I must have really passed out." Denise shook her head, sitting up and running a hand through her thick dark hair to push it out of her face. Her stomach woke up next, judging from the howl it let out that had her flushing faintly.
Spade moved aside, revealing the table beside him that had several covered dishes on it.
"Hamburger with lettuce, tomato, pickle, and ketchup, extra fries, plus chicken soup, crackers, and chocolate cake."
Her eyes widened and then she laughed. "You remembered exactly what I like. God, Spade, I think I love you."
It was said in jest, but the tightness in his chest at hearing those words struck him like a blow. He already knew he cared for Denise far more than he'd cared for anyone in a very long time, but at that moment, he realized how serious it had become. I'm in love with you. I never thought that would happen to me again - and especially with a human.
She had to let him change her into a vampire. He couldn't bear losing her to her fragile human mortality, where death could pounce even under the most benign of circumstances. As a human, she could choke on a bite of that hamburger and be lost to him forever, for pity's sake. There was no way he could tolerate her remaining human, and if she cared for him as he believed she did, she'd want to change over so they could be together for centuries at least. Not mere decades.
Denise cleared her throat, looking away, her honeyed jasmine scent turning tarter with discomfort over her previous quip. Far more discomfort than she should feel, unless she also knew there was more between them than friendly affection, necessity, or lust.
"I need to talk to you," she said, pretending to study the painting on the opposite wall. "It's important, and I don't want anyone to overhear it."
Anticipation surged in him. Was she about to admit that she cared for him? Had she realized their worlds were equally dangerous and there was no more cruelty in his versus hers?
Bloody hell, if she did, he'd cancel the party and spend the rest of the evening in bed with her, sod how Web or any of the other undead guests might be offended. He could always smooth things over with them later, but he'd be damned if he would turn Denise away were she to declare her feelings for him.
He crossed the room, shutting the door and then turning on the telly loud enough to make her feel comfortable that they wouldn't be overheard. Then he sat on edge of the bed, fighting not to do anything to startle her. Like tearing her clothes off so he could feel her scorching, silky skin all over him.
"What is it?" he asked, not a hint of his internal struggle in his voice.