Torture, that’s what.
He’d tried to ignore her cool confidence and dry humor that was much like his own, but the moment he spotted her vulnerable side, he wanted no part of it. Partners formed close relationships, even if they disliked each other. The last thing he needed was to grow attached to her, or even worse, watch her destroy everything they had built. Either way, this partnership had to end.
For feck’s sake, he’d tucked her into his bed.
Viktor tapped his foot on the floor. “Do you have nothing to say?”
“I need to break away from here for a while and get my head together.”
Viktor rose to his feet. “Nyet. I have a blood-soaked car in my driveway with a body in the trunk. No cleaner is going to touch that without reporting it to the higher authority. I do not trust those men with this much evidence. Cleaning a little blood off the street? Fine. That is not something they can report with much merit. I need you to take care of this for me.”
Christian rubbed his face, realizing he couldn’t hang Viktor out to dry. He rose to his feet and rocked on his heels. “Aye, I’ll finish this job as you asked. But after that, I’m taking a holiday to think about what I want to do. If I stay here another night in my current state, I might leave for good.”
Viktor sighed harshly, the lines in his face etched deep. “Very well. If you need to go away and think, I respect that. We’ll work something out.”
They didn’t speak another word, and Christian left the house in the Mage’s car. He wiped down the seat before getting in so he wouldn’t have to sit in a pool of sticky blood.
Thank Jaysus they were leather seats.
“Raven Black. What kind of name is that?” he mused.
She kept herself guarded when it came to her creation, but without knowing those details, it left Christian uncertain about her stability. Who was her maker? Where was he now? Maybe she murdered them all and her heart was just as black as her name. After all, what kind of Vampire would abandon his youngling? Raven despised Vampires, and it wouldn’t have offended him so much had she not been half.
Christian loved what he was. Eating was optional; blood wasn’t necessary to sustain life, but it filled them with power and knowledge; and he was blessed with immortality. He was stronger, had exceptional hearing, and especially didn’t mind how most Breeds avoided him. Had his maker not granted him this life, he’d be rotting away in a pine box alongside his brothers.
Although truth be told, Christian had no idea where his brothers had been laid to rest. His father and younger sister stayed behind in Ireland while the rest of them moved on in search of a better life. After many hardships, the brothers parted ways in pursuit of different opportunities. Christian remained behind in the big city, reduced to picking pockets because no one would hire the Irish. When he was around thirty-one, he met a Vampire who had offered him the unexpected opportunity of a better life. In those days, makers didn’t need to obtain permission. Christian accepted without hesitation. His brothers would have said he was in league with the devil, but what else did he have going for him?
As the years went by, muddy roads and horse-drawn carriages transformed into paved streets and motorcars. As the cities became more populated, they came alive at night—more anonymous. Anyone could blend in.
Even a Vampire.
Christian wondered what his maker would think of him driving a stolen car with a dead body in the trunk. Not that Ronan was a pious man, but he believed everyone was born with a greater purpose.
“Is this what you have to look forward to?” Christian asked whimsically. He drove the car through the broken gates of the oldest cemetery in the city. “Meet your new partner, Christian. Isn’t she a bonnie lass? Nothing to worry about. She’s bright, gifted, and a murderous lunatic. You’ll be spending the next century cleaning up her messes and dumping bodies. Every time she screws up, you’ll have everyone judging you for her actions.”
He slowed down, accidentally driving over an old gravestone that looked more like a rock.
“You’re a fecking moron if you keep this job,” he growled to himself. “She wouldn’t bat an eyelash if you turned up missing or were burned at the stake. She’d probably bring the marshmallows. Viktor, you’re such an eejit for trusting a woman like that.”
When he reached a private mausoleum in the oldest part of the cemetery, he threw the car into park and shut off the engine. Christian knew this spot well. He’d not only filled some of these graves with notorious killers, but it was a peaceful place to come and think. Staring at the crypts and gravestones reminded him that he needed to do something valuable with his time. They say the dead don’t speak, but they do if you listen hard enough.