He wasn’t my true sire but he was close enough. After my blind date from hell had been staked, it was Thierry’s blood that helped me not die. That sealed the deal in giving us the bond—which until now I thought only I had.
“My chain is gone,” I said shakily. “Gideon broke it.”
His jaw clenched. “What?”
“And Gideon burned the grimoire.”
“I see.”
“Are you going to tell me you told me so? About him?”
His expression was grim. “No.”
“You should. I deserve it.”
“Nothing I say will help to make this any better.”
He was right about that.
With an arm around my shoulders, he directed me down the corridor and we walked and walked for what felt like forever until we got to a parking garage.
“I’ve kept this in a central downtown location in case we needed it,” he said, nodding at a white van.
When I first discovered that I was cursed and sunlight had the potential to burn me to a crisp we’d had to use a similar van. It wasn’t a very pleasant drive, but it did the trick.
Transport the sun-fearing nightwalker from point A to point B.
“What am I going to do?” I asked him.
He stroked the hair off my forehead and kissed me there softly before holding my face in his hands and gazing down into my black nightwalker eyes.
“You’re going to get into the back of the van and we’re going to George’s.”
“But—”
“No. One thing at a time, Sarah.”
“Are you going to tell me that everything’s going to be okay?”
He tilted his head to the side. “Do you want me to say that?”
“Only if it’s true.”
“Then I think we should hold off any such proclamations for a while until we decide what to do next.”
He couldn’t hide the worry that slid behind his gaze. He couldn’t convince me that all was well with the world. Out of everyone I’d known in my life, Thierry was the biggest realist.
He’d seen a lot of years and it had definitely dampened any optimism he might have had.
Some people saw him as Mr. Doom and Gloom, but now I knew. He was right. He didn’t put on a happy face when things were going to hell in a hand basket. He dealt with it and then he moved on.
I had to be dealt with.
I climbed into the back of the van. He let go of my hand and without saying another word, slammed the back door shut and I was plunged into darkness. There were no windows, no pretty view, because that would let in the sunlight.
He’d prepared for this without telling me. He’d known this could happen—that it would happen.
He might not be an optimist, but he definitely could have been a Boy Scout.
I pressed my back against the cool side of the van as it started moving. From where we were, wherever we were—I’d kind of lost track—it took less than fifteen minutes to get to George’s house.
I heard a knock on the back door, which warned me it was about to open. I scooted back and the door swung open. The light didn’t touch me but it seared my vision. Just a taste of the pain waiting for me outside the van.
Thierry had a black blanket in his hands. A thick one. And he held it up.
“Come,” he said. “George is waiting.”
Summoning up what little courage I had left, I threw myself into his arms and he covered me with the blanket. We ran as fast as we could to the front door. Only twenty feet but it was not a pleasant sprint.
From the tiny peephole I had, I could see George standing there at the threshold wringing his hands anxiously.
“I invite you into my house, Sarah Dearly!” His voice was pinched.
Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten. I couldn’t enter people’s private homes anymore without an invitation.
That would be very inconvenient.
I’d experienced hitting a threshold before, and it was like a thick glass wall. Invisible but impenetrable. Luckily George had said what he needed to and I swept right past him with
Thierry at my side into the blissfully dark interior. All the shades had been drawn.
I tried to ignore the smoky wisps that drifted upward from my skin. It was minus zero on the last day of February, but that didn’t seem to make a bit of difference.
Thierry was frowning at me. “Sarah, are you well?”
Was I well? I didn’t think I could be less well if I tried. My vision was narrowing.
Darkening. The room spun in slow circles.
When nightwalkers existed, they tended to sleep through the day. Best way to avoid the sunlight was to be unconscious during it.
“She’s very pale,” George said, studying me. “Pasty is definitely not the new black.”
Then my eyes rolled back into my head and I fainted dead away.
A dream. It had all been just a dream. Thank God.