Aidan raised a hand higher and began to gather the sparks into a fireball. He lifted his face to the wild winds. He could not fathom ever doing this to Gregori. Even if he could defeat Gregori, he could not do this. Yet how many times had Gregori been forced to hunt a friend? A relative? A childhood playmate? How many such stains could one’s soul bear before there was no redemption?
I am with you, Aidan. Alexandria’s voice was a breath of fresh, clean air, untouched by the evil in front of him. Your soul is not black. I can see it, feel it, touch it with my own. What you do, you do out of necessity, not out of desire. Your friend fights to save himself. If his soul was black, he would not have stayed to protect me. He would have gone after the second vampire for the joy of the hunt, the kill. He stayed, Aidan. And he has gone to be alone where violence cannot touch him, where he has a chance to wait out his vow. That vow alone should tell both of you something. He is no selfish vampire, not even close to becoming one. He thinks of her. Finish your task, ugly as it is, and come back to me. Think of me.
I will often have to come to you with blood on my hands.
There was a small silence. Then he felt the brush of her hand and was astonished that she had reached out to him when she had never been trained. Her fingertips lingered on his jaw and trailed down his neck, conveying tenderness. I have been in the hands of a vampire, Aidan. You forget, I know the ugliness of evil. It is not in you, as you seem to think. You hunt because you must, not from a need to kill. Perhaps at one time those who became vampires were good men, but the men you once knew are long gone from this earth. Perhaps Gregori and you give them peace.
Aidan allowed her words to rinse the sorrow from his mind, the terrible fear and dread that her very presence in his life had allowed him to feel. He shook his head over the irony of that. He had felt no emotion for so many centuries, and now, because Alexandria had come into his life, he knew the terrible burden, the sorrow of the hunter.
He sent the ball of fire racing toward the dead vampire, his attention now focused on his task. The ball entered the ruined chest, and before his eyes the betrayer blackened, withered, became the ash of the earth once again. His gaze on the ashes, he built the wind with one hand. The gust came not from the sea but from the land, scattering the ashes into the waves that would carry them out to a fitting resting place. Aidan whispered an ancient chant to cleanse himself as well as his fallen friend. Squaring his shoulders, he stood tall and straight, then turned to face the direction of his home.
He could hear the sound of water, Alexandria’s murmur of pleasure as she stepped into the sunken tub. He could smell her scent, beckoning him. Smiling, he took to the air, feeling it move over his body, cleansing him.
* * *
Chapter Sixteen
Alexandria sat in the huge marble tub, her hair swept up into a topknot, bubbles brushing her skin like a thousand tiny fingers. Aidan paused in the doorway, his face drawn, his eyes holding shadows and a sad, haunted expression she wanted to erase for all time.
When she had felt his deep, disturbing sorrow, she had deliberately sent him erotic images, wanting to help him, wanting to comfort him. From a distance, knowing she didn’t have to face him, it had been easy to allow her imagination free rein. She had been shy at the thought of his return, when she would have to face whatever repercussions her vivid, wanton images had created.
Now though, seeing his beautiful eyes shadowed, haunted, holding such sorrow in their depths, washed every vestige of shyness away. She would do anything to remove that grief.