She nodded, but her hands locked together before her. While Mal was gratified she had no fear, trusting him to protect her, he didn’t want her testing the limits. The pain of those fangs in Jeremiah’s palms, the agitation that boiled beneath the eerie calm, all of it could take this into a very violent place, very quickly.
Jeremiah continued, speaking slowly, so each word came out as clear as it could through the impediment of his torn-up mouth. “Mal act . . . t’ward you, way man act t’ward woman. T’ward you. Hated him for it. Doan remember anyt’ing but rage, and heat. Like when Rushkin would flog, starf us. We tore people apart . . . so angry.”
She flinched, and he gave her a slow, appraising nod. “Done dat, too many times. Don’t remember all . . . faces. Never gif you what he does.” When he closed his eyes then, Mal heard it in Elisa’s mind, the boy speaking as he wished to speak, the words unbroken even if the emotions behind them weren’t.
I ache for it, die a little bit seeing it. I want to be as a man is . . . I don’t know if this is what Mal feels, or something twisted, a child and a man’s love. It consumes me, Elisa. I know what I do and don’t want anymore.
It was the first time he’d said her name fully, rather than the childish Leesa abbreviation, and Mal could tell it struck her mind, made her throat ache. Beyond that, she was rocked on her axis, as much as he was, to hear the grown-up voice and fully formed thoughts. After months of limited and broken forms of communication, what they were hearing were the thoughts of an undeniably adult male.
I can’t do it. I can’t wait and see if I’ll become like them. If I did, no woman will see past what I look like. Can you imagine lying with me? Letting me touch you like him? He nodded toward Mal. Kiss you that way? Imagine it. Close your eyes, see it. Let me show it to you.
Elisa didn’t want to do it, but she did. Jeremiah, stroking her face as he’d seen Mal do, his hands going to her waist, lips pressing against hers. Childish lips, childish hands. A shudder went through her, repelled despite herself, and she opened her eyes to see tears in his.
“Jeremiah, no. It’s not—”
No. He shook his head fiercely. It’s how you should feel. It’s how a normal, decent human being feels. I marked you, because I didn’t ever want you to be in danger and not know about it. Which was stupid, because how could I help, really, locked in a cell all the time? But then, I was able to sing to you, make you feel better, and that was something. It meant something. But it’s always on the edges, you know. Not really living.
He took a deep breath, turned his gaze to Mal and spoke the clearest he’d spoken yet, so forceful it pushed past the lisp. “I’m done. I want . . . it . . . to . . . be . . . over.”
“No.” Elisa whispered it. When Jeremiah looked back at her, she saw a sudden calm in his gaze now, laced with a sadness so deep and so familiar. She’d seen it the day he’d killed Leonidas. She’d turned away from the truth then, but there was no turning away now.
I wanted to tell you like this, out here, without a bloodlust attack, so you know it’s not because of that. I wanted to feel pain—he gestured with his hands—to know that it doesn’t matter to me anymore. Nothing is worse than the agony of what I’ve become, Elisa. Of what I’m becoming. You have to let me go.
He turned back to Mal. I want to do it today. I like the place where we watched the cheetahs. It will have a good sunrise. Give me a stake and I’ll sit there. I’ll do it when the sun comes up, or the sun can take me.
“No. No. No.” She didn’t care about compulsions or Jeremiah’s control. She surged forward, and came up against the hard wall of Mal, holding her away from the young vampire. She fought to get past him, but Jeremiah took a step back. His body shuddered, his eyes sparking with crimson. Proving, as Mal had said, how very hard he was fighting to hold on to control.
“You can’t do this,” she cried out. She fought Mal’s grip, ignored Jeremiah’s rising agitation in favor of her own. Mal didn’t speak in her mind, didn’t admonish her out loud, as if he knew the only thing that would hold her back now was physical strength. “You can’t give up. There are so many things you can live for. So many things . . .”
She trailed off as he stared at her, that terrible knowledge in his eyes. What, Elisa? What things? I’ll never leave this island, never leave that cell. I’ll never be more than a freak, dependent on others. I don’t want that.
Abruptly, his fists clenched on those gruesome impalements, and he bared the bloody gaps in his mouth, his eyes going red. “I doan want dat!”
It was a howl, but it had to chase them down the hill, because Mal had already picked her up bodily and was speeding away with her. He left the Jeep behind to cut through the forest, putting distance between her and the vampire fledgling who was now screaming his rage to the night, a vibration that rivaled even the cheetah’s eerie calls. It brought silence to the island, every being going stock-still as they heard and scented a predator in pain, a danger to them all.
“No.” She kept saying it. She wouldn’t give in to tears, wouldn’t bear to be touched. When he dropped her on their porch, she bared her teeth at Mal just like Jeremiah had and went after him with fists and fury, until he hauled her down to their room, past Kohana’s startled face. Once there, Mal closed the door, leaning against it as he let her go. She threw herself back at him. He blocked her attempts to move him, to strike out at him, tolerated her screams in stoic silence, let her go until she ran herself into complete exhaustion and collapsed at his feet, pressing her face against his thigh, letting the sobs take her. No, no, no . . .
When he at last bent, curled his arms around her, she latched onto one of them with a deathlike grip. As the sobs grew harder, more painful, she bit into the arm, bit deep, screaming her anger and pain, tasting his blood. He held her without flinching, came down to rock her, hold her. “No . . .”
She kept on until she was depleted. She had her face in his arm and never wanted to lift it. It was just too much. She couldn’t lose anymore; she just couldn’t. She didn’t ever want to get up again. She didn’t care if he left her like this, like refuse on the floor, unnoticed and mindless.
Instead, he curled over her, stroking her back. He wasn’t saying anything, because there was nothing to say. She could retreat into numbness that way, not deal with anything. But Jeremiah wasn’t as merciful as Mal.
His bloodlust had apparently passed, because now his voice trembled in her mind, vulnerable. Please don’t, Elisa. Don’t grieve for me. This is how it was meant to be. I died a long time ago, what I could have been, what I wanted to be. I need to go, and go with your blessing, even if it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do.
She sensed an edge of tension, and fear. She couldn’t bear for him to be afraid.
I don’t . . . It’s not fair, but I don’t want to go alone. I will if I have to, but you . . . you’re my family. Please help me do this.
I can’t let you go. I can’t let you do it.
The choice isn’t yours. Mal promised me. This one choice is mine. And it wasn’t easy for him, because he knows it may take your heart from him. So remember that when you’re angry with him over it.
She lifted her gaze to Mal. “No. Talk him out of it.”
“I can’t, Irish flower.” Mal cupped her tear-swollen face. “Your pain is tearing me apart, but he’s right. And deep in that practical soul of yours, you know it as well. You’ve known since Leonidas.”
“No. If it’s in my mind, I’m wrong. This is wrong. I’m Catholic,” she said desperately, echoed it in her mind to Jeremiah. She heard what sounded like a choked chuckle, the first time Jeremiah had shown a sense of humor, grim as it was. The quiet request came again, ruthless, inexorable.
Ah, Lees. Please. Help me. Only you can help me.
39
HE wouldn’t be talked into giving her one more day, wouldn’t prolong her agony or his. That numbness returned, settling over her as she cleaned her face, changed into a different outfit. The blue dress Jeremiah had liked the most. She’d first worn it for him at the station, and he’d reached through the cage to touch the hem when she’d been sitting what Mal would have considered far too close to his cage.
Dressing up to watch someone die. Her fingers trembled and she made herself stop, take a deep breath, wait until they stilled to begin again.
When she came out on the porch, Kohana was there, and Chumani. Tokala and Bidzil. All of the other hands as well, an unexpected show of support. She managed a jerky nod. Tokala steadied her as she went down the steps and he followed her to the Jeep where Mal leaned, arms crossed, expression somber. Tears came to her eyes to see he wore dark slacks and a dress shirt.
“Tokala will go with us,” he said quietly. “He’ll have a crossbow to finish it, quick and painless, when Jeremiah says so. We won’t make the boy do it.”
“He’s not a boy. He’s a man. A young man.”
Mal nodded. “So he is. I’ll be near. There’s a supply station near that spot, and I can be inside it when the sun rises.”
When she’d regained consciousness from Victor’s attack, she remembered how, for the first few minutes, she thought of the most absurdly normal things. How she needed to get up and help Mrs. Pritchett, despite her broken bones. How the curtains needed airing and the fan turning over her bed needed a good dusting.
“You’ll be horribly uncomfortable there. It’s not reinforced enough. And you’ll be stuck there until dusk. I . . . You can go back to the house. Tokala will bring me.”
“I’m not leaving you out there alone, Elisa.”
“Please . . . I need . . .” She was fighting to keep her voice even. “I need to know after this, I can come back here, and you’ll be in your bed, and you can curl around me like you always do, and we can dream. Please.”
After a long moment, his jaw tight, his mind obviously deep inside of hers, seeing the truth of her words, what she needed, he inclined his head. “Let’s go, then.”