Blood and Lace: Chapter 14

Della watched Nicholas for several minutes, relieved that he kept his eyes closed. That gaze they had shared…it had been hypnotic, nearly overwhelming.

Who is this man?

He’d lived but a fraction of her lifetime. Did he truly command a presence that made her feel like a blushing girl? Della frowned. No…that wasn't it. Nicholas didn't make her feel like a maiden.

He made her feel like a woman.

It was in his eyes every time he looked at her. He saw the woman first and the vampire second—even when the result got him hurt. It was an insight that she didn't know what to do with. It had never been like this with her own kind, not with Drus or anyone else.

Della absently licked her wrist to clean off the remaining blood and ensure the wound would close, and vainly tried to resist the tug of her thoughts.

The events of the past few days had pulled them both from their respective paths. They were adrift and increasingly reliant on one another. If she couldn't find her way back soon, this strange…alliance might consume them both. And gods help her, she still wasn't sure she wanted to end it.

“I feel warmer,” Nicholas said, jolting her back to the present. She looked down at him. His shivering had stopped completely and color was returning to his face.

“I am glad,” she said, and meant it. When he started to shift she put a hand on his shoulder. “Give it a few more minutes. The blood is powerful, but it's not magic. You need time.”

He nodded curtly, opening his eyes. They flicked between the clouds above and their surroundings. After a minute of heavy silence, Della realized that Nicholas seemed to once more be looking at everything except her. She should have been pleased at his desire to create distance, but instead she felt a pang of disappointment.

“Nicholas…”

“Present.”

“Is there a reason you aren’t looking at me?”

His weary sigh might have traveled from the foundations of his soul. “Yeah…I don’t want to.” After a moment he angled his head towards her while keeping his gaze elsewhere. “If I look at you,” he began, his voice gruff, “I'll probably forgive you. And I don't think I want to right now.”

Della didn't reply. The phrase “right now” gave her a touch of hope, but she wouldn’t argue that she deserved his forgiveness—she didn’t.

Nicholas shifted, moving his limbs experimentally. “I just…I don't know what to think of you,” he continued. “I know what I want to think. I know what the Gilda Devota expects me to think…” He shook his head and blew out a breath. “Should I try to sit up now?”

“What do you want to think?” Della asked suddenly, ignoring his question.

The seconds ticked by. Nicholas would probably be able to sit up, but she kept silent, hoping he answered.

“I tell myself,” he said finally, “I'm telling myself…that you didn't attack me because you're a vampire. Because it’s your ‘base nature,’ or whatever. That's too easy. It's the Guild’s answer.” His tone grew distracted, like a man trying to solve a puzzle. “Maybe the…the viciousness of it, or the quickness, but that's not the cause. Don't know why, but I feel so certain. I wonder if—” He made a soft huff of frustration and shook his head.

“Go on. Please.” Something in Della’s voice made him turn, almost look.

“I keep wondering…do you know why you attacked me?” His words were slow, hesitant. “Are you mystified…horrified?”

A loud crunch made Nicholas jerk upward in alarm. Della looked down to see her fingers slowly splintering the edge of the table. She realized her heart was pounding almost as fast as a human’s.

“Della?”

“I am sorry. I-I did not…” I did not mean to frighten you, she finished in her head, mesmerized by the wood fragments spilling from her opened hand. She watched them rain onto the ground.

“Della?” This time her name wasn't edged in panic, but something more like concern.

“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered.

Nicholas carefully lowered his head back to the table. “If you were human, I’d say you were suffering from post-traumatic stress. I mean, I would be coming apart at the seams if I’d experienced what you have. Would it be that different for a vampire? You lost everything and…everyone. Maybe you’re trying to process it and it's not going great.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Is that ridiculous? Overly human?”

She shook her head, but he didn't see it. “It’s not ridiculous,” she managed in a small voice. It felt awful to contemplate Nicholas’s words. She had never, in her long life, thought of herself like this. Coming apart. The phrase made her feel weak and exposed…but it would also explain why her cherished self-control kept abandoning her. Why she kept hurting someone who was becoming…important.

Nicholas nodded, as if she’d just confirmed something crucial. “If that's true, then I'm not blameless either. Not if I kept pushing when all the signs were there. It doesn't mean that what you did”—here a flash of anger returned—“wasn’t cruel and inexcusable.”

“Nicholas…”

“But I’ve been going about things the wrong way,” he persisted, “by not treating what happened to you, what’s still happening, with the basic empathy I would offer a teammate.” His head shook gently. “I see this sort of thing all the time in hunter circles. It's common. But I didn't notice because I was too busy second-guessing your emotional trauma as ‘vampiric behavior.’ Mother would be so proud.” This last was uttered almost too low for Della’s hearing.

Nicholas suddenly held up his arms. “Help me sit up.”

She took his hands carefully, and lifted. He winced and sucked in a breath, but managed to get into a sitting position. She released him and stepped back to watch. With the care of someone unsure of his injuries, Nicholas shifted to the edge of the table and gingerly lowered himself to the ground. He blinked, took a few steps, then bent over slightly and grimaced.

“Still hurts…but, God, are you sure it isn't magic?” He finally looked at her. It was instinctual, without thinking, and with a smile full of wonder. And just like that she knew his insatiable curiosity had reawakened. Nicholas—her strange hunter—had returned. She hadn't ruined him.

Della returned his smile with one of her own. It was a full, human expression that she couldn't contain, bursting like a short-lived flower—quickly gone, but not before Nicholas saw it. And she realized she wanted him to.

“Aw…shit,” he said, his own smile turning rueful.

“What?” Della asked.

“I think I've forgiven you.”

A rush of warmth suffused her at his words. She held herself still, too vulnerable to show the profound relief she felt. “I’m not sure I deserve it,” she said with gravity, “but I'm selfish enough to want it.”

He nodded, abruptly just as sober. “Let’s get back to the apartment.” Left unspoken was what would happen next. Was he still expecting her to leave? Did he want her to leave?

The journey back was quiet; too much had happened for either of them to want a second “walk-and-talk.” Whatever Nicholas’s plan had been to aid her, it would have to wait. He also led them to the lighted area of the path, taking a longer loop back to his home. Della wondered if he wanted to avoid the dark patch of woods so he wouldn't have to touch her.

She busied herself considering alternate sanctuaries, places where she could shelter before the coming dawn. None of the possibilities would be as secure as Nicholas’s, but a few would provide reasonable safety—though it would cost most of her cash.

They didn't linger in the hallway outside his apartment. Della’s shoulders prickled with the thought that Mrs. Laruso might be watching them through the peep hole, but Nicholas quickly unlocked the door and held it open for her. At least Jessie’s scent was a fading memory, thank the gods.

She turned to him as he flipped the deadbolt. “How’s your back?”

He paused, then bent forward, testing his range of motion. This time there was only a flicker of discomfort. His eyes widened. “Surprisingly good. Better than it was before I left.”

Della nodded. “Most likely you’ll be completely healed by morning. But there will be side effects. Are you tired yet?”

“I…” he frowned. “I guess now that you mention it, I am feeling sort of wiped out. Thought it was the adrenaline from—” He yawned abruptly, seemingly taken aback. “From before.”

“The blood will heal, but the body will pay,” Della said pragmatically. “And tomorrow you may feel…strange. Jittery. Human nervous systems don't abide the potency of the blood well. It will pass by tomorrow night. For now…” She nodded toward his back hall. “Brush your teeth. Change into your bed clothes. Call me when you are settled.”

Nicholas blinked. “You’re sending me to bed and tucking me in?” he asked incredulously.

“I am going to see you are resting comfortably, yes.” She flicked her eyes towards his bedroom with a hint of exasperation. “Go. And make sure you are decent when I come in.”

Looking mildly stupefied, Nicholas did as he was told, giving another massive yawn before he passed out of sight. While he readied himself, Della removed her sweater and examined it for damage. It was unharmed except for fraying around the wrist that had punched through the picnic table. Her expression tightened when she recalled it. Either way, the garment would be acceptable for her business later. She pulled it back on when Nicholas called her.

He had apparently taken her directive to be “decent” very seriously, for the thin blanket was pulled entirely up to his chin. She idly wondered what he was wearing beneath it. She suspected “nothing” based on the intriguing outlines, but couldn't quite bring herself to be offended.

She walked to the head of the bed and looked down at him. Nicholas's expression was unreadable, but his eyes had grown heavy-lidded. There was something deeply appealing about his tousled hair and drowsy gaze.

“Are you well?” she asked softly.

He nodded. “You were right. Can barely keep my eyes op—” His words stopped as she briefly brushed his forehead with the back of her hand. Some of the fog cleared from his gaze, revealing a smoldering look that was becoming familiar. The sides of her face heated as she remembered the feel of his lips against her wrist. Thankfully the room was too dark for him to see.

“What was that?”

“I wanted to make sure there was no sign of fever.”

“No,” he said, “I keep noticing that sometimes there’s this…red mark along the sides of your face, almost like a stripe.”

Damn. The blood had improved his night vision.

“There! It just happened again.”

“It’s nothing.” Della managed to keep her voice level. “You took a few more drops than you should have, and your senses have become overkeen.”

“Oh my God…”

“Nicholas—”

“It’s a blush.” His sleepy smile became a teasing grin. “I'm right, aren't I? It’s so different from the human version. To think that's what vampires look like when they…”

“…warn inquisitive men not to embarrass a lady?”

Nicholas blinked, then gave a soft snort. “Yes. That.”

She rewarded him with a pleased nod, then said more seriously. “You shouldn't have taken so much. But you don’t feel feverish. You’re lucky.”

“It wasn't easy to stop,” he said. The rawness in his voice made her appetite suddenly flutter, despite a lack of hunger. Della swallowed and straightened.

“As I promised,” she said in a clipped tone, “I’ll now take my leave.”

She’d gone a single step toward the door when his hand shot from below the blanket and clutched hers. His grip was gentle but firm, and she could feel the heat of his fingers against her palm.

Neither of them spoke. For a moment they both savored the comfort of a tenuous yet vital connection. After a time, his words floated up to her.

“Do you trust me, Della?”

It would be the height of foolishness to trust this man.

“Yes,” she whispered. Because she was a fool. Because it was true. “Do you…still trust me?”

“I want you to ask me tomorrow,” Nicholas said. “After sunset.”

The implied invite created another dangerous rush of warmth. She hesitated, then nodded. “Very well. But I must still go out tonight.”

“To feed?” There was a strange undercurrent in his voice. Disapproval? No…jealousy. She was sure of it. How very…novel. “I’m sorry,” he quickly muttered. “I have no right to pry.”

“It’s all right,” she said. Then, with an act of will, she forced herself to continue. “I don't need to feed. I'm going to try and find out what's happening with my brethren in the city.” Gods…she really did trust this man to tell him even that much.

He squeezed her hand, lightly, and let go. “Thank you,” he said, and it was clear by his tone that he grasped the import of her volunteering the information. “Look, I’m sleepy and kinda dense, so just to be clear: you’ll spend the day here?”

The corners of her mouth lifted. “I will.”

“Good. I’d go nuts worrying about you. Oh, and wake me up so I can give you the bed. No one should be sleeping under it—I haven’t vacuumed there since I moved in.”