understood the words he was speaking but she was having difficulty understanding what they meant. Wiping her hands off automatically, she tried to grab one of the zillions of thoughts clamoring around in her head while they slid out of her grasp as quickly as she caught one. Without thinking, she squeezed her eyes shut and asked, “Why didn’t you do that when the vampires attacked the village?”
There was a long silence and she opened her eyes to see him standing over her, watching her with the strangest expression, part horror, part awe. Cocking her head to the side, she met his gaze, “What?”
Shaking off whatever thoughts he had, he wiped all expression from his face. Nodding towards the plant, he inclined his head, “I am impressed; I have never seen so much potential in a Breeder.”
She was absurdly pleased by his compliment and completely terrified, torn between clashing desires. What had he called her? A Breeder? Isn’t that what those poor villagers had been? The insatiable desire to ask him more about the village, the child that had been born, roared to life inside her and she had to bite her tongue to prevent the questions from spilling out. She couldn’t afford to learn more about him, to discover his sorrows and his love for his son; she would have no defenses left.
Oh, but she was curious!
She concentrated on the fact that he had kidnapped her, that he had marked her and kidnapped her; that he had taken her son, had probably taken her father as well. He was not noble and good; he was a monster who… who lost everything to vampires, just as she had. The image of the broken woman scorched her brain, her lifeless gray eyes staring out of a beautiful face. There was something so familiar about her, but of course Malorie couldn’t know who she was; she had been long dead before Malorie was even born. “What was her name?”
At his blank expression, she clarified, “The mother of your son; what was her name?”
“How do you know about Varick?” he asked, pain lancing his voice.
Malorie shook her head, unable to explain the memories she had experienced. What if he considered her a threat for getting inside his head? Maybe it had something to do with his blood that had mingled ever so briefly with hers; that would be weird but something worth exploring later. "Her name?”
Shaking off the despair that seemed to have gripped him at the mention of his son, he shrugged his shoulders, “I never bothered to learn it.”
She stared at him for a long moment, astonishment making her mute. Finally, she stammered, “That’s… horrible.”
With a wry grin, he replied, “She wasn’t mine to keep, Malorie; only to borrow.”
“You know my name,” she said softly, stupidly.
His soft laugh warmed her to her very toes and it was a struggle to remain immune to him; as if she had ever been immune to him. “Of course I do. Malorie means ‘ill-fated.’ It is a peculiar name for a child.”
“But the I.D. in my purse was fake,” she blurted out, slamming a hand over her mouth to prevent any more faux pas from slipping out and ignoring his words. His laughter this time was deeper, richer and she felt it in her soul. She was in so much trouble. Desperate to change the subject, afraid to hear the answer, she had to know, “Where my son?”
“He’s safe,” Compassion replaced his humor. “He’s being well guarded.”
Her heart kicked against her chest and anguish threatened to consume her; they had Toby; the need to protect her son overpowered her infatuation with the Aradian. She needed to escape, but how could she without her son? Swiftly, a plan formed in her head, a foolish plan with a very, very slim chance of success, but it was all she had. Letting the desperation she felt seep into her voice, she asked, “Can… can I see him?”
“Not yet; there is something that you must do for me,” her Aradian said; his voice deeper, huskier. She knew that tone; it had beckoned her so often in her
There was a long silence and she opened her eyes to see him standing over her, watching her with the strangest expression, part horror, part awe. Cocking her head to the side, she met his gaze, “What?”
Shaking off whatever thoughts he had, he wiped all expression from his face. Nodding towards the plant, he inclined his head, “I am impressed; I have never seen so much potential in a Breeder.”
She was absurdly pleased by his compliment and completely terrified, torn between clashing desires. What had he called her? A Breeder? Isn’t that what those poor villagers had been? The insatiable desire to ask him more about the village, the child that had been born, roared to life inside her and she had to bite her tongue to prevent the questions from spilling out. She couldn’t afford to learn more about him, to discover his sorrows and his love for his son; she would have no defenses left.
Oh, but she was curious!
She concentrated on the fact that he had kidnapped her, that he had marked her and kidnapped her; that he had taken her son, had probably taken her father as well. He was not noble and good; he was a monster who… who lost everything to vampires, just as she had. The image of the broken woman scorched her brain, her lifeless gray eyes staring out of a beautiful face. There was something so familiar about her, but of course Malorie couldn’t know who she was; she had been long dead before Malorie was even born. “What was her name?”
At his blank expression, she clarified, “The mother of your son; what was her name?”
“How do you know about Varick?” he asked, pain lancing his voice.
Malorie shook her head, unable to explain the memories she had experienced. What if he considered her a threat for getting inside his head? Maybe it had something to do with his blood that had mingled ever so briefly with hers; that would be weird but something worth exploring later. "Her name?”
Shaking off the despair that seemed to have gripped him at the mention of his son, he shrugged his shoulders, “I never bothered to learn it.”
She stared at him for a long moment, astonishment making her mute. Finally, she stammered, “That’s… horrible.”
With a wry grin, he replied, “She wasn’t mine to keep, Malorie; only to borrow.”
“You know my name,” she said softly, stupidly.
His soft laugh warmed her to her very toes and it was a struggle to remain immune to him; as if she had ever been immune to him. “Of course I do. Malorie means ‘ill-fated.’ It is a peculiar name for a child.”
“But the I.D. in my purse was fake,” she blurted out, slamming a hand over her mouth to prevent any more faux pas from slipping out and ignoring his words. His laughter this time was deeper, richer and she felt it in her soul. She was in so much trouble. Desperate to change the subject, afraid to hear the answer, she had to know, “Where my son?”
“He’s safe,” Compassion replaced his humor. “He’s being well guarded.”
Her heart kicked against her chest and anguish threatened to consume her; they had Toby; the need to protect her son overpowered her infatuation with the Aradian. She needed to escape, but how could she without her son? Swiftly, a plan formed in her head, a foolish plan with a very, very slim chance of success, but it was all she had. Letting the desperation she felt seep into her voice, she asked, “Can… can I see him?”
“Not yet; there is something that you must do for me,” her Aradian said; his voice deeper, huskier. She knew that tone; it had beckoned her so often in her
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