Nikolai could breathe again.
“It’s species related,” Darvaak said, appearing totally at ease. “Perhaps even more specific than that.”
Me. Let it only be me, Nikolai’s subconscious screamed to his horror. He sat back against the sofa cushions, trying to appear nonchalant. He deserved an Oscar for this performance.
“And just how did you come to be a vampire?” Darvaak asked. “This is very important, Elena.”
“I-I was born this way.”
“Her father was Gregor Arcos,” Nikolai said, hoping to put an end to the fifty questions game.
Both eyebrows shot up then. Darvaak uncrossed his legs and scooted to the edge of his seat. “Father as in your maker, or father as in insert tab A into slot B?”
Nikolai shot to his feet. “It’s not a fucking joke.”
The Time Folder stood as well. “It damn well isn’t, Slayer. Sit down!” For a moment, he was sure Darvaak was going to zap him, but then he returned to his customary composed demeanor. “Please.”
Nikolai sat, but everything in him rebelled against it. He hated not being in control, and at that moment everything was out of his hands: Elena’s safety, the secrecy of their location, even his own life. All of it rested in the well-manicured hands of this smartass Time Folder. What a fucking mess.
“Her father bred with a human.”
“Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere.” Darvaak stood and paced down the long glass wall overlooking the tops of pine trees outside the high rise. “I didn’t know human/vampire progeny were possible.”
“They’re not,” Nikolai said.
Darvaak stopped his pacing and stood behind Elena. “Yet, here she is. Proof yet again that nature…or the unnatural finds a way.” He strode to the woman who had set her sewing aside and took her hand. “Before we get to the issue of the cord binding the two of you, I’d like to introduce you to someone, Elena.” He escorted the tailor’s assistant to stand right in front of her. “This is Margarita Juarez. Margarita, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Elena Arcos.” The woman took off her tinted glasses. Stefan Darvaak stepped back and smiled. “And now, Elena, you can say you know one.”
Chapter Eight
Elena stared into Margarita’s blood-red eyes and nearly fainted. Dear God. All the awful things she’d said about vampires. “I’m…” Her breath caught in her throat. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry… I—”
Margarita held her hand up. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Our species has its bad apples, just like humans—because all vampires were humans first.” The woman’s red eyes bored into Elena. “You don’t have to choose violence. I don’t. Your father didn’t.”
Her breath caught. “You knew him?”
Sliding her glasses back on, the vampire shook her head. “No. I know of him. Everyone does. Things were better when he was alive.”
No kidding. Elena’s rib cage felt like it would shatter if she so much as took a breath. She had been very young when he died, but still, she missed him so much—even though what she remembered about him seemed distorted now that she knew what he had really been.
Margarita returned to her sewing while reality hovered just out of Elena’s reach. She stared down at the cord. She was turning into a vampire, and Nikolai couldn’t kill her. And that, coupled with the fact all vampires weren’t evil as he had portrayed them to be, certainly put a new twist on their relationship. Had everything he told her been a lie?
She stared at Stefan, who studied her with his eerie, pale eyes, and then at Nikolai. He’d been no more than ten feet from her for the last two days, but she felt like they were miles away from each other. Even when he’d had his mouth and hands on her, they’d been worlds apart.
She sat again and turned back to Stefan. “Please find a way to free me from this—from him.”
“I certainly appreciate your desire, but I can see no way that I can be of help other than seeing you clothed and fed. That cord is elven-forged. Only the artisan can break it without killing you. It’s too late for me to help you.”
“The elf who made it isn’t available. And it’s not too late,” Nikolai said. “You can go back in time before I tied it on her…us.” The desperation in his voice matched her own. “Please,” he continued. “Fold time to before I bound her and take the cord away. I know you can do this.”
The tailor shuffled back into the room and gathered his supplies. He moved so strangely, and his eyes were brown, not red. If Margarita was a vampire, what was he, Elena wondered. He took the shirt from Margarita and handed it to Stefan, not even looking at Elena or Nikolai.