Serafina and the Silent Vampire

CHAPTER Sixteen


Judging by the sky, Blair reckoned he had time to call in on Phil before he went home. He wanted to make sure the old piss-head was up for the fight. Or at least, that was what he told himself. In reality, he didn’t want time alone to brood about Serafina.

One thing a vampire learned was patience. He knew better than to invite Sera to his house for a dawn ravishing. Whatever was going on in her mixed-up head, she needed time to sort it out, and Blair was happy to give her that. After all, he’d be seeing her regularly until this mess was sorted out anyway. The fact that she’d followed him in panic to the front door, the arrested look in her eye when she imagined he was saying a terminal farewell—a belief he’d rather deliberately inspired—both convinced him that hope of Serafina was not lost. He could wait. But the knowledge didn’t stop the lust or the frustration from rampaging through him until he almost turned back, shoved the door in, and took her while she was still halfway up the stairs.

A fantasy for another day.

Phil had taken up temporary residence, as he frequently did while in Edinburgh, in a condemned warehouse in the old brewery district of Fountainbridge. He wouldn’t have the use of it much longer, though—a sign bearing the name of a major property developer had gone up. It would soon be luxury, serviced flats, so unless Phil stumped up and bought one, he’d be homeless pretty soon.

There had once been iron gates leading into the yard. Now it was a much lower, makeshift, wood-and-wire barrier held on with string. Blair jumped over it without touching it and strode toward the smaller, boarded-up door at the side of the building. His mind was on Sera, on the difficulties of the task she was trying to achieve, and on how to charm her back into his bed before he exploded with lust. So he barely noticed the warning prickles breaking out all over his body until he’d reached up and almost pushed open the door.

Vampires. On the outside, close by.

“Run, Blair. Don’t come in. Run.” Phil’s telepathic voice from the inside turned the cold blood in his veins to ice. He’d never before felt such panic, such fear in Phil’s mind.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Run!” Phil pleaded desperately. “F*cking run!”

He could rush in and try to save Phil from whatever was scaring his pants off. But Phil would hardly tell him to run unless—

Blair was already leaping backward when the force of the explosion blasted him even farther. A fireball followed him, bursting from the building and searing him on its way past. Blair could hear the awed, triumphant laughter of the vampires in his head, and then it was drowned out by Phil’s terrible screams.

A vampire couldn’t survive fire; and the warehouse was burning.

At the last moment, Blair managed to twist in mid-air, so that when the force of the blast released him, he hit the ground feetfirst, instantly running through the billowing clouds of smoke and dust, back toward the warehouse. The raging inferno straight in front of him had to be the door he’d almost entered. Swerving, he sped to the main front door, which was in much the same state.

The other vampire presences were melting away. Perhaps they’d imagined he’d burned up in the fireball. Or perhaps they’d heard the police and fire sirens screaming toward them. Blair leapt to the upper floor window, crashing through the boards and into the derelict, smoke-filled room. Phil’s mental screaming grew fainter, but it was enough for Blair to trace him. Forcing his way through the heat, which grew ever more intense toward the inferno that had once been the wooden stairs, he ignored the agonizing blistering and crumpling of his skin. In the end, he found Phil by bumping into him.

From instinct, he grabbed at him as an ominous cracking sounded even through the roar of the flames. There was an instant of clarity when he realized Phil was pinned to the balustrade with wooden stakes through his hands, and that the whole stairwell was about to collapse, balustrade and all.

The only way to go on was not to think. To shut out the heat and close down the part of his brain that still felt pain. He allowed the anger, the fury, since it gave him a false strength he no longer had in reality. Blair altered his grip and yanked. The balustrade came with Phil, and Blair swung back the way he’d come.

But the smoke was so thick now he couldn’t even see the window he’d crashed through. Still relying on an instinct that couldn’t be trusted in this hell of heat and smoke, Blair took his last chance. He could end it all by rushing straight into the thick stone walls. With the force of his run, that would be his last act. Or he might get it right and find the window.

Carrying Phil and the accompanying balustrade in his arms, Blair leapt. The balustrade crashed and broke against the wall, vibrating through him like a machine-gun blast. But there was colder air and nothing under his feet.

The night was alight not just with fire but with emergency flood lights. Human voices yelled, mingling with the wail of sirens. Fire engines, ambulances, and police cars seemed to fill the edge of the yard and the street beyond.

The ground rushed to meet him. He glimpsed a policeman, openmouthed and stunned, and then the sea of smoke and rubble closed in once more.

Even as he hit the ground running once more, despite the agony of burning skin and the dead weight of his tragically silent friend in his arms, the joy of survival rushed through him.

Who’d have thought a mere forty years ago, when Ailis had forcibly tethered him to the earth with responsibility, that the mere extension of existence could have made him grin like a maniac in the carnage?

****

Nobody wanted to be the one to open Serafina’s the next day. So, buoyed up by a shower and a lot of coffee, Sera did it while the others took turns to go home and change. It was a mostly clear day, appointment-wise, because Sera had set it aside for the chasing of new business.

“And since I don’t feel capable of chasing anything that moves faster than a cup of coffee,” she told Melanie, “I think I should stay here and watch you de-spell the banking vampires.”

“What if they go on the rampage?” Mel asked anxiously. “If they’re suddenly released from Nick’s control…”

“Well, they can’t rampage before tonight. And if they’re no longer acting together, Blair can kill them.”

Something twisted inside her as she spoke the words, but there was no time to dwell on that because Melanie was bringing up other problems. “Yes, but how long will that take? You said he wanted you to track them for him. Do you really want to be a sniffer dog for a vampire assassin?”

Sera flopped into the nearest chair and rubbed her tired eyes. “I don’t know what else to do. There are too many of them, and they keep killing.” She lifted her gaze to Mel, who looked unnaturally bright and wide awake. “And what about Nicholas himself? If you break his spell, will he not be able to just recast it when you’ve gone home?”

Mel eased her hip off Elspeth’s desk and walked to the window. “Not really,” she said ruefully. “My counter-spell should run through each vampire to the source of the original spell.”

“Nick?”

“Nick. Each loosening should weaken him. To be honest, I doubt he’ll have much magical power left by the time we finish with him.”

The twist tightened. Sera wondered if it was her conscience. “You mean he won’t be psychic anymore?” How would that make me feel? I wouldn’t be different anymore. I could have a normal life, get married, have kids… So why does the very idea make me feel dead inside?

Melanie said, “I don’t think that can be taken from him, any more than his knowledge can.”

Was that relief? Did she really care what happened to that bastard who’d rejected and ignored her and was perfectly happy to enslave humanity? Christ, I need more sleep.

“It’s his—energy, if you like, that’ll be affected. He’s needed a lot for what he’s doing, and it sort of feeds itself on a loop as he uses it. We’re going to smash the loop. And that will leave him with a hell of a lot less than he started with. At the very most.”

Sera frowned at Melanie’s back. “You mean we could kill him?”

Mel hesitated, then shivered and glanced back over her shoulder. “I don’t know. But we certainly won’t do his health any good. Do you want to call it off, Sera? Look for some other way?”

Sera spread her hands on her knees and regarded her fingers, spotting an uneven nail, a random scratch on her thumb. “There isn’t another way, is there?”

“There’s always another way. We just have to find it.”

“I don’t think we’ve time for that, do you?”

Mel shrugged. “I don’t even know how often we’ll have to do the spell. I don’t imagine you get many vampires with one shot. And this is going to use up a hell of a lot of my own energy. I’ll need to sleep in between.”

Sera stood up with decision. “Then let’s start. Why don’t you use the inner office? I’ll mind the shop as well as watch for you.”

****

There were no words, but Blair sensed their grim, silent presence. As he gazed down on the still, burned husk on the bed, all those with whom he or Phil had links hovered in his mind with grief and anger. It was rare enough for one of them to die that they all felt Phil’s pain and the shock of his imminent passing.

Possible passing.

Again, Blair had to break his own skin before holding his wrist to Phil’s lips, pressing hard enough for some of the blood to spill over his lips and teeth. At least this time, he felt the weak, instinctive suck, and knew there was hope.

Abruptly, Davie spoke in his mind. “I’ll be coming over now.”

“Now would be good,” Blair said after a pause, willing Phil to keep drinking. Surely the pull was growing stronger? “Keep hidden and wait for my call.”

For once, there was no dispute, no posturing or defiance, only a subdued murmur of assent as they drifted away.

“You have them well in hand,” a very different voice said in his mind, mingling amusement with admiration. Relief washed over him, almost like a pain.

“Ailis.”

She was Phil’s best chance, and, as if Phil felt her too, he sucked harder, drawing Blair’s blood greedily into his own mouth. The blackness of his skin began to recede and lighten to blistered redness in places.

“I’m on my way,” Ailis said. “But it will be well after dark before I can reach Edinburgh.”

Blair sent her a nod, gritting his teeth. His blood was doing its job, reviving Phil, giving him the strength to remember his greed. He could drain Blair dry and it still wouldn’t be enough blood to heal him.

Reluctantly, he pulled his wrist free. “Enough for now. Rest.”

****

On his way out of the police station to begin his shift, McGowan was surprised to see Steve Paton slumped over a desk, apparently doodling with pencil and paper.

“You still here?” he said in surprise. “I thought you were on night shift.”

“Yes.” Steve grunted, throwing down his pencil and rubbing his face with one hand. “I feel like shite. Need my bed. I just wanted to draw this character before I forgot what he looked like.”

Steve wasn’t a police artist as such. He was just a police constable with a talent for sketching. Over the years, he’d done caricatures of McGowan and most of their colleagues and superiors. They hung on the walls of the canteen and the locker rooms.

“Who’s he?” McGowan asked without much interest.

“You heard about the Fountainbridge fire? Definitely arson. I saw this guy running away from it, carrying someone else. I suppose you could say he’s our chief suspect. I’ll give it to Sal before I go.”

McGowan nodded and was about to pass on when, as Steve stood and reached for the picture, he glanced at it himself and stopped dead. Snatching it from Steve’s surprised grasp, he stared at it.

It showed a good-looking, lean young man with thick, wild hair, and large, deep-set eyes, looking out of the picture as if he was dropping from the sky. He had the sort of bone structure women swooned over and the lips of a sensualist. He also looked furious, and his skin seemed to be peeling.

“I know him,” McGowan said slowly. “I’ve seen him before. Recently…” He cast his mind back over the previous working day and its finish via the home of the enigmatic Sera MacBride. His breath caught. He lifted his gaze to the expectant Steve. “Blair. His name’s Blair, and he’s a friend of that psychic researcher in the New Town: Serafina MacBride.”

****

Jilly, her ear to the door of the inner office, said, “It’s very quiet in there. She’s not speaking.”

“Maybe it’s happening,” Sera said hopefully. She was trying to concentrate on her research for tomorrow’s appointments, with indifferent success.

“How long did she say it would take?” Jack asked, carefully neutral. He was having a hard time believing in witches and spells. If it wasn’t for the recent events featuring vampires, he’d have been snorting in derision. At least in private.

“What do your parents think of you working for a psychic researcher?” Sera asked suddenly. Jack’s parents were a surgeon and a company director.

Jack grinned sheepishly. “They don’t know. They think I’m unemployed.”

Sera gave a slightly twisted smile. “Which, for all the salary you get here, you probably are.”

“And for all the work he does,” Jilly added, moving away from the door.

“Why don’t you get a real job? The sort graduates are supposed to do?” It wasn’t the first time she’d asked, and she wasn’t surprised to get the same answer.

“When the right one comes along, I will.”

“What is the right job for you, Jack?” Jilly mocked.

“Nursery nurse,” Jack scowled. “I feel I’m already doing it.”

Sera stood up. “I don’t like this. She’s too quiet too long.”

Jilly caught her arm as she marched toward the inner office. “Wait. What if you interrupt her at the crucial moment?”

“What if she’s dead?” The words slipped out without intention, scaring Sera as much as Jilly.

White, Jilly stared at her. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

Not with Mel… This time, Sera closed her lips before she spoke aloud. She pulled free of Jilly and reached for the door.

Quietly, she turned the handle and went in.

Oh Jesus Christ, no…

Mel was slumped over the table, one hand still in the tray of earth, the other under her head on the table. Without conscious volition, Sera found herself crouching beside her friend, smoothing the hair from her face so that she could see her.

She touched Mel’s lips, felt her breath, and almost sobbed in relief. Then she saw the tearstains on Mel’s face as the witch’s eyes fluttered open. She tried to lift her head but seemed unable.

“I’m sorry, Sera,” she whispered. “I can’t reach them. I’m not strong enough.”

Sera stroked her hair. “Not any of them?”

“Not one.”

“The spell doesn’t work,” Jilly said from the doorway. Frustration was clear in her voice.

“The spell is good,” Mel said weakly. “It just needs more power than I have. Even in the same room, I’d have difficulty. It’s too strong for me.”

“You’re just tired,” Sera said. She didn’t know if she meant to comfort Melanie or herself. “Come on. You need rest. You can’t do something like this on the strength of three hours’ sleep.”

Jilly came to help, and between them, they lifted her from the chair and half carried her through the door and upstairs to the flat. Sera fetched her a glass of water, which she drank obediently and then lay down on Sera’s bed as if she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. Over her sleeping body, Sera met Jilly’s gaze.

And then came the distant sound of Elspeth’s voice, speaking too loudly, in too much panic. “She isn’t here right now. I’ll get her to call you.”

Sera bolted to the stairs and crept down, listening. “I’ll wait,” said the voice of Nicholas Smith.

Sera glanced over her shoulder at Jilly, whose eyes narrowed, ready for a fight. Sera grinned and walked the rest of the way down to the inner office. Through its open door, she could see Nicholas Smith seating himself in the waiting chairs. He wore a suit and tie.

Sera and Jilly strolled through. It comforted Sera to hear the click of the flat door locking behind them.

“Old Nick,” she observed, entering the main office. “How can I help you today?”

“By telling me what you’re doing.” Smith rose to his feet, and Sera at once sensed anger. He was suppressing it beneath his usual, suave exterior, but tension radiated from his tense shoulders, the careful modulation of his voice, the infinitesimal tightness of his polite smile.

“I’m about to have a cup of coffee and make a few phone calls. I want to expand my business.”

He stared at her. “So long as you’re not interfering in mine.”

Sera met his gaze blandly. Had he felt Melanie’s attempt to break through his spell? If he guessed what they were up to, would he be able to block them? Supposing Mel ever discovered a way to actually reach the vampires…

Sera said, “I want nothing whatever to do with you or your ‘business.’”

“Some of my people,” Smith said, still gazing at her as if he could read her mind, “have had their access to funds denied. Pending security investigations.”

Jilly had gone very still. Sera grinned openly. She wanted to grab Jilly’s hand and dance around the room with her. Instead, she said succinctly, “Good. I guess the banks aren’t as stupid as you thought them. Or your vampires are stupider—it’s what you get for cutting off their thought processes.”

“Oh, I can cut off a lot more than that,” Smith said, smiling. His eyes were cold and furious, and behind that, more worryingly, was a fierce, vindictive triumph that clawed at Sera’s stomach.

“What do you mean?” she asked, forcing lightness into her voice.

“I mean you should join me now, before it’s too late.”

Sera curled her lip. “It’s always been too late, Dad. Why don’t you run along? You’re making my shop untidy.”

He was alone, without his vampires in the middle of the day. Sera had already considered capturing and imprisoning him, but they really didn’t want all his vampires rushing to his rescue as soon as it was dark. At least not until they knew Mel’s spell would work. Right now, Sera just wanted him gone. Jilly and Jack stood on either side of her, leaving Smith in no doubt that they could and would run him out the door if necessary. Even Elspeth had got to her feet and was staring at him sternly.

Smith left.

In the doorway, he did a slightly impatient shuffle with two people coming in—a man with a casual jacket over a shirt and tie, a woman in black trousers and a red wool jacket with her hair scraped well back from her face.

They looked slightly surprised to see the delegation lined up before them. Jack coughed and mumbled something as he went back to his desk. Jilly dropped into her own seat and casually opened her laptop.

Sera, her head singing with frustration and unanswered questions, wanted to scream at them to go away so she could discuss things with the others. Or at least have peace to think. Instead, she forced herself to smile at the newcomers.

Elspeth said welcomingly, “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” said the woman, turning to Elspeth. She produced an identity card. “I’m Detective Sergeant Lennox from CID. This is Detective Constable Graham.”

One of the hardest things Sera ever did was not to look at Jilly and shout, Run! Take the laptop and chop it into a million pieces!

DC Graham said, “We’d like to speak to Miss Serafina MacBride.”

That was a good thing. That had to be a good thing. “I’m Sera MacBride,” she said, as lightly as she could manage. “What can I do for you?”

DC Graham fished a paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “We’re making some enquiries about this man. Do you recognize him?”

Sera glanced at the paper. It showed a rough pencil sketch of an unmistakable figure that made her stomach lurch. There was no point in denying him. Alex McGowan had seen him in her flat.

“Yes, I know him,” she said easily. “What do you want him for?”

“Could you tell us his name and address?” Sergeant Lennox asked while Graham refolded the paper and stuffed it into one pocket before taking his notebook from another.

“His name’s Blair. I don’t know his address.”

The lie brought both pairs of eyes to her face. “Does he work for you, Miss MacBride?” Sergeant Lennox asked.

“No. He’s just an acquaintance.”

“But I understand he’s a good enough friend to have been visiting you in your home last night.”

“He and several other people, yes. Look, what’s this about?”

“You’ll have heard about the fire at Fountainbridge? Completely destroyed a warehouse that was due to be converted into flats. A firefighter’s in hospital.”

“I hadn’t heard,” Sera said, frowning. “I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“Can you tell us where you were between five and six o’clock this morning?” Graham asked.

“I was here,” Sera said. “Or at least in my flat upstairs. Why?”

“Can anyone vouch for that?” Lennox asked.

“Aye,” Jilly said aggressively, at exactly the same time as Jack and Elspeth both said, “Yes.”

Clearly startled, both police officers glanced around Sera’s staff. “You can all swear that Miss MacBride was at home between five and six in the morning?” Graham said in disbelief.

“They stayed the night,” Sera explained. “We were in the middle of something and finished late. It seemed easiest.”

“Did Mr. Blair also stay the night?”

“Yes,” Sera said boldly.

“Is he here now?” Lennox enquired. “We’d like to ask him a few questions.”

“No, he’s not here now.”

“When did he leave?”

That, Sera realized, pretending to think about it, was a tricky question to answer. If she told the truth, she could be incriminating him; if she said she’d been asleep and didn’t know, it put her own alibi at risk.

Jilly said, “I think he went about five-thirty. I heard him go downstairs.”

The officers exchanged glances that could have meant anything.

Sera said, “You really think he had something to do with this fire?”

“We need to talk to him,” Graham said stolidly.

“Oh, I can cut off a lot more than that.” Smith’s words suddenly began to make sense. “Did someone give you his name?” she asked. “If so, I have to tell you it was probably malicious.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Lennox said dryly. “He was seen and recognized at the scene by a police officer.” She took a card from her pocket and shoved it into Sera’s nerveless fingers. “Ask him to contact us on that number, will you? Or if you have any information, let us know immediately.”

“Of course,” Sera said vaguely.

****

There was no way she could stay away. No assurances that he’d be asleep or warnings that she’d only lead the cops straight to him could prevent her. She took a circuitous route via several shops, every sense on high alert to make sure she wasn’t followed. But in the end, she stood outside Blair’s house, ringing the bell in vain. Both doors were locked. And yet she knew he was in there. She could sense him.

At last, she decided to try the basement door one last time, and if he wouldn’t open it, she’d do her best to pick the lock.

She thumped the door a few more times, to absolute silence.

Then she opened her bag and rummaged for a nail file. Fortunately, the street was quiet, and she could see no one obvious at the opposite windows. Bending to the lock, she began to insert the file, just as the door opened and a woman in colorful hippy clothes emerged, trailing long, cotton scarves and chunky jewelry. She gave Sera a vague smile as they passed in the doorway, then walked up the steps and turned right toward Prince’s Street.

Sera gazed unhappily after her. Her stomach felt knotted with stress. Or distress. Although she’d seen no wounds on the girl, she was damned sure Blair had drunk from her. Did he f*ck her as well?

More lowering than anything else was that she felt more jealousy than anxiety for the victim.

“Sick old bat,” she told herself and went into the house. Closing the door behind her, she stepped forward into the dark hallway.

“Blair?” she called. “This isn’t a social call. I need to talk to you.”

Something moved at the top of the stairs—no more than a silent shadow. Swallowing, grasping the stake in her pocket, Sera walked toward the stairs. With all her senses, she reached into every room downstairs. She knew he was on the next floor.

She began to climb the stairs. “Blair, what are you doing?” she demanded. “It’s me! The police are looking for you! What’s going on?”

Something clicked upstairs. She felt a tiny frisson of fresh air.

The bastard had left by the other door. She bolted to the top of the stairs and ran to the front door, tearing it open. There was no one in the street, apart from a biker, all leather and helmet, disappearing round the corner.

“Sewer or smoking blanket?” Jilly had asked sardonically.

Motorbike.

Sera’s skin prickled. Was that really how he got around in daylight? Was that Blair she’d just seen? Probably. She could no longer feel him in the house. But she could sense vampire.

Her heart hammering in her breast, she closed the door without shutting it tight, and walked slowly down the hall, past the sitting room she’d been in before, and on to the door that stood ajar. She touched it.

Vampire. Everything screamed at her. She took the stake from her pocket and pushed open the door.

Nothing leapt at her.

The vampire lay on a large, four-poster bed. Behind curtains and shutters, a solitary candle burned, but the vampire didn’t move. His spirit was weak, in such pain that it took Sera several moments to identify it.

“Phil?” she whispered. She didn’t mean to; fear just brought it out that way. Something was terribly wrong with him.

“Serafina.” If he’d spoken it, it would have been like a breath, no louder.

She went closer. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m hurt,” he said, a tad more strongly. There was even a touch of wryness in it.

He was hurt. A single sheet covered him, but above it, the head on the pillow was almost hairless, the skin blistered and red, tinged black in places. His hands and arms were the same. And the eyes which gazed at her were full of unspeakable agony.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered. “What happened?”

“Smith tracked me to my home. His vampires bound me and laid a trap for Blair. Then he set the place on fire by remote control. Or at least, his vampires did.”

“The warehouse at Fountainbridge,” she said stupidly. “My God… Where’s Blair? Did he just leave?”

“He’s gone to get me more blood. It’s all that will save me now.”

She’d been right that the hippy girl was food, just not for Blair. “Shite, Phil, how did you get out of there?”

“Blair. I refused to call him, but he came anyway. I managed to warn him so he was far enough back to survive when the explosion happened. But he knew I was in there and came back for me. I knew he would. I knew he would.” Something leaked from his eyes. It looked like blood. Distressed, Sera searched for a cloth to wipe his eyes and found one with a bowl of clean water on the bedside table.

“Don’t,” she said with difficulty, dabbing at the corner of his eyes and trying desperately not to hurt him further. “You’ll lose all the blood you’ve just taken.” She paused. “Why does that upset you so much? Why did you try so hard to keep him away?”

“Because I was afraid he’d use it as an excuse. To save me and die.”

Sera sank onto the bed beside him. “An excuse?” she repeated.

His cracked lips tugged as if trying to smile. “The curse of the vampire,” he said, “is boredom. Blair has been bored for many years.”

Sera looked away, dropped the cloth into the bowl. Suddenly, she wanted Phil to stop talking, but he wouldn’t.

“The only reason he’s still here is the promise he made to Ailis. That when she was away, he would look out for the community, for all of us, in her place. She understood him, knew how to keep him with us.”

Blair with dead, anguished eyes, unresisting and silently laughing under the stabbing stakes of ignorant young men; Blair, exuding such sorrow that even his would-be murderer had wept for him while a beautiful vampiress had coaxed and coerced him into the promise that kept him bound to existence and gave him reason, however unwanted. The Blair of Jamie’s vision.

Understanding, compassion, neither could prevent the numbing chill spreading through her veins.

I’ve been a distracting f*ck for a depressed vampire. Why should that hurt so much? She’d had sex for less worthy reasons.

“Ailis could force him to exist,” Phil’s faint voice went on in her mind. “But she couldn’t make him happy.” When Sera glanced at him uncertainly, his cracked lips quirked again. “He didn’t throw me to safety. He jumped with me and saved us both. Your banking vampires intrigued and annoyed him. You gave him back life. Un-life.”

“You’re delirious,” she said shakily. Blair wasn’t like that, he wasn’t. He was hedonistic and lazy and unexpectedly good fun. And yet when he’d first touched her, there had been that profound blackness corroding him. She’d put it down to too many terrible memories, appalling crimes committed and suffered. But it had always been more than that. Jamie’s vision had reinforced what she already suspected deep down. She of all people should never have labeled Blair so simply.

“I’m talking too much,” Phil agreed, closing his eyes. “For a silent vampire…”

Sera stared at him and swallowed. “I can give you blood. If you promise not to take it all.”

Phil’s eyes opened. “I can’t drink from you, Sera.”

“Because you’re too weak?” she asked in pity.

“No, idiot. Because you’re his.”

She tore her gaze free, appalled to feel tears clogging her throat. “No, I’m not,” she whispered.