Lothaire

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Because fate would not slight me so unspeakably. I’d seek a noon-day sun if I were paired with one such as you.”

“Such as me,” she repeated blandly. She’d been mocked too often over her lifetime to take offense. Her skin was as thick as armor.

“Yes, you. An ignorant, mortal Kmart checkout girl.” He took the sharpest knife from his place setting, absently turning it between his left thumb and forefinger.

“Kmart? I should’ve been so lucky. Those jobs were hard to come by. I worked at my uncle’s outfitter shop.”

“Then you’re even worse. You’re an outfitter checkout girl with aspirations for Kmart.”

“Still better than a demon.”

“Saroya’s not a demon,” he grated. “I wouldn’t have one of them either.”

“Oh, that’s right, she’s a goddess. And you’re a vampire. I suppose pookas are real, too. And shapeshifters?” Then her eyes widened. “Is Mothman real?”

In the Virginias, everyone had heard of that demonic winged being, with its red orbs for eyes. There continued to be sketchy sightings of it flying in the gloom and coal dust.

The sheriff who’d taken Ellie down had joked to others that there might have been a Mothman sighting the night of her arrest, an amusing encounter atop isolated Peirce Mountain.

“Everything you’ve ever dreamed is real,” Lothaire said. “Every creature thought to be myth. We call our world the Lore. And for the record, Mothman’s a fuckwit.”

Her lips parted at that. “How come your kind don’t come out to humans?”

“We are punished when we needlessly reveal ourselves as immortals.”

“So all these ‘myths’ are out secretly combing the streets?”

“And running governments, starring in films, infiltrating human monarchies. Your species is notoriously dim and unobservant compared to Loreans, so we roam freely over the earth, gods walking among your kind.”

A horrific thought struck her. “If you drank my blood, will that make me a vampire too?” Say no, say no, say no.

He exhaled. “If only it were so simple.”

“Oh, thank God!”

The vampire didn’t like that at all. Tension thrummed off him. He pressed the tip of the knife he held against the pad of his right thumb, twirling until blood began to drip.

Silence reigned. “Lothaire?”

He didn’t answer. Drip, drip . . .

She fidgeted with her napkin. The unfamiliar quiet ratcheted up her nervousness.

Prison had been a continual assault on the ears. During the day, inmates banged on the bars, guards stomping up and down steel steps. It sounded like a messy utensil drawer opened and slammed shut repeatedly.

At night, eerie moans of both pleasure and pain echoed down the ward. Screams rang out. The serial killer across the corridor from her had loved to hiss at her in the dark. . . .

Finally Lothaire grated, “I’ve had mortals beg me to change them. Most humans would give anything to become immortal. It’s considered a priceless gift.”

She gazed anywhere but at his new injury. “I would never want that.”

“Never to sicken, never to grow old?”

Ellie had an innate talent for empathy, for putting herself in others’ shoes. Now she imagined what it’d be like to live for thousands of years, as Lothaire apparently had.

How could he savor each day of his life when the supply of them was unlimited? How could he ever experience wonder or excitement? “All I can think is that it’d be wearying.”

Had a shadow passed over his expression?

“So if I’m not already changed into a vampire,” Ellie said, “and it’s not so simple to do, how will you and Saroya get together?”

“I seek a ring. It has the power to transform her into a vampire.”

“Made a vampire? In my body? If she’s a goddess, why’s she been digging into me like a tick?”

He merely stared at her with those creepy eyes, twirling that knife as his blood began to pool on the surface of the table.

Though he terrified her, Ellie pressed on. “Why would she be inside of me, the checkout girl? Why should I believe she’s . . . divine?”

“Understand me, girl. I don’t lie. Ever. She was cursed to a human form.”

“Who cursed her? Why put her in me?”

Seeing he had no intention of answering her, she said, “Look, you guys are getting my body out of this deal. I’m getting nothing. You said you liked a good bargain? You should recognize that this isn’t exactly a fair exchange. Would it kill you to tell me why she needs my body?”

His eyes got a faraway look and deepened in color, telling her his mind was drifting. Dissociation?

She’d seen the same look earlier today as he’d paced. It occurred to her then that this vampire was not just evil.

The Enemy of Old might be clinically insane.

* * *

“Another goddess cursed her to a mortal’s form,” Lothaire finally said, struggling to rein back the madness. Focus. “I do not know why you were chosen.”

“Which goddess?”

Saroya had a twin, Lamia. Each sister derived her strength from life—Lamia from creating it and safeguarding it, Saroya from harvesting it and consuming souls.

When Saroya had made a bid for more power, killing indiscriminately and upsetting the balance, Lamia had joined forces with other gods and cursed Saroya to experience death over and over as a human. “The curse of mortality,” he muttered. “Could there be anything worse?” He glanced down, surprised to find himself boring a knife tip into his own thumb.

“Lothaire, why was she cursed?” Elizabeth continued heedlessly.

He licked his dripping new wound. “Because she is just like me.” A being insatiable for power. “She saw a play for more, and she took it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Do pizdy. Don’t fucking care.” He was getting sick of others acting as if he’d just uttered nonsense. He killed most who cast him that sharp questioning look.

But he couldn’t harm the human before him, the female with her steady gray eyes taking his measure. He stared into them for long moments, surprised to find himself feeling more grounded.

“How could a girl from the backwoods ever get caught up in something so . . . unlikely?”

Without breaking eye contact, he leaned back in his chair. “I asked myself that continually from the time I first saw you. After all, in the beginning, I had no idea you were anything more than a mere human, had no idea how I could possibly be connected to you.”

Why was he conversing so readily with her? Perhaps because he knew she would take his secrets to the grave? And soon?

For whatever reason, the words seemed pulled from him.

“Imagine my abject disappointment in you, female. Lothaire the Enemy of Old—the most feared vampire alive, the son of one king and grandson of another—paired with a mortal? Much less a mortal of no distinction. I’m given to understand that your people are worse than peasants.”

Instead of indignation, curiosity lit her face. “Wait. I came first? You didn’t find me because of her? Hey, are you saying you’re a prince?”

“Yes, peasants,” he repeated slowly. “The lowliest of the low among humans.” Then he enunciated, “Exceedingly backward and vulgar hillbillies.”