The second victim swayed and fell nearly on top of the first. Aidan dragged the knife-wielding man close. The man looked up at him. “Are we going to party?” the reprobate asked with a crude laugh.
“One of us is,” Aidan agreed softly, and he bent his head to find the pulsing jugular.
The first ripple of unease hit him. He lifted his head for a moment, and his prey’s blood spurted out. He bent once more to his task, this time all efficiency and quickness. It was Alexandria. He could feel the first wave of pain hitting her.
He meticulously closed the wound, ensuring that there was no evidence on the man’s neck to betray the presence of his kind in the area, and allowed his prey to sink to the ground. To anyone passing by all three men would appear drunk. Doubtless the trail of blood down one man’s shirt would be attributed to a bloody nose.
It was starting within Alexandria, as he knew it would. The conversion. And, ultimately, if inadvertently, he was responsible. The guilt didn’t sit well with him. He had observed two wounds on Alexandria’s neck, which could only mean one thing: the vampire had bitten her twice, made his exchanges. When Aidan had assumed she was a vampiress, already turned, he had nearly killed her. Then, when he had realized his error, he had replaced her lost blood with his own. Four blood exchanges would put the human through the transformation process—to vampire or Carpathian. Either way, there was no turning back. In most humans, attempts at conversion either killed the woman outright or drove her insane. Only a few women, those possessing psychic abilities, had managed to come through the ordeal alive and well. And they would be the ones to help perpetuate the Carpathian race, since their own females were proving barren.
The fourth blood exchange, converting Alexandria, would also keep her chained to him forever. Selfish though it might be to make that decision without her consent, she was, after all, his only salvation. He had held on for so many centuries, awaiting his lifemate, avoiding turning vampire himself. And, consenting or not, she was meant to be his lifemate, not Yohenstria’s; all the signs, and their perfect chemistry, confirmed that. And at least he had done what he could to give Alexandria as much of his own powerful, ancient blood as he could to dilute the vampire’s taint and make her transformation to Carpathian easier.
He felt her scream in his mind, a helpless cry filled with desperate pain. She was confused and afraid, linked with him yet unknowingly sharing her thoughts. She was terrified of him yet afraid he had deserted her, afraid he might even be enjoying her pain as the vampire had. Mostly she was afraid for her brother, Joshua, believing he was alone, unprotected in the house of a vampire so powerful, he had killed another of the undead in a matter of moments.
Aidan launched himself into the night sky, needing to cover the distance between them as quickly as possible. At that moment he didn’t care if someone saw a strange night owl, huge beyond belief, winging its way over the city. She needed him. She was begging Marie for a doctor. Marie was in distress, wanting to accommodate her yet knowing Aidan was the only one who could help her. He heard it all clearly, the soft voice begging for help, the housekeeper nearly in tears. He was sharing Alexandria’s mind, experiencing everything she was experiencing. Confusion. Pain. Fear amounting to terror.
He flew to her, to be close when she called out for him. And he hoped, for both their sakes, that that would be soon. She needed him, but he had promised to compel her no further than the blood exchange. She had to call for him.
Outside the underground chamber he paced, Alexandria’s pitiful cries sending shards of pain through his own heart. A dozen times he reached for the door, wanting, even needing to kick it in. But she had to call to him. She had to express faith in him or she would never believe he was helping, not harming, her. He rested his forehead against the door, then was shocked to see a crimson stain from the contact. He was sweating blood, in agony hearing her pleas and feeling the pain twisting and burning within her body. The physical agony he could manage, but his heart and his mind were in torment.