Part 11 (1/2)

She raised her brows. ”I thought vampires didn't dream.”

He kept his face averted. ”I guess sometimes they do.” He spoke so softly that she could barely hear him.

”What was it?” She was almost afraid to ask. No, that was wrong. She was afraid to ask. It had obviously troubled him. So it probably hadn't been a dream, but a nightmare.

”I dreamed . . .” His voice trailed off again. He turned his head back toward her. ”It's so crazy, but I keep thinking that maybe the Brotherhood . . . that they can change me.”

Her heart broke a little.

A lot.

”But they can't,” she replied. ”Father Juan said.” Still, she gazed at him and wondered if he knew something she didn't. Maybe he wasn't telling her everything, in case it didn't work.

”I hate what I am,” he said. ”Cursed. G.o.d can't turn His face to mine.”

She swallowed down her shock. Antonio always talked about a loving G.o.d who accepted all sinners. He spent half his time praying to G.o.d, and he helped Father Juan with saying Ma.s.s and doing all kinds of religious duties. After all that, was he saying that this same G.o.d had rejected him?

”You know Father Juan would hit you if he heard you say that,” she managed. ”Or make you say a hundred Hail Marys or wash the chapel floor with a toothbrush. Because he doesn't think G.o.d hates you.” She took a breath. ”And on a good day? You don't think that either.”

He didn't smile. Glancing at the window, with its faded brown curtains pulled shut against the sun, he pushed himself up on one elbow. His hair was tousled, and he looked like any guy in bed waking up from a nap. She was embarra.s.sed and slightly fl.u.s.tered. She'd never seen any guy wake up beside her except for her teammates-including Antonio-and that was when they were on a mission.

We're on a mission right now, she thought, but the air around them was electric, the way it felt before a thunderstorm. Gazing into his eyes, she tried to remember that not too long ago they had glowed like rubies as he bragged about the people he had slaughtered. But that was after Aurora had tortured and starved him, and Skye's stalker boyfriend had cast spells on him. That had forced him to turn evil.

Was he truly free of their influence now?

”I believe that this curse stands between G.o.d and me,” Antonio said. ”I believe I must work night and day to find His mercy. You know that if I were a man, then I would become a priest. And I could never marry.”

Her face went hot. She was mortified. And his words cut her like a knife.

”I'm not old enough to get married,” she blurted, dying inside. She was hurt, angry, humiliated. ”But why would you want to be a priest if you think G.o.d cursed you?”

He c.o.c.ked his head. ”He didn't curse me. Sergio Almodovar did.”

”But if He's G.o.d, then . . . I don't get it, Antonio. Why didn't he protect you?”

”Our understanding of Him is so limited,” Antonio replied. ”But I put my trust in Him, and I pray for answers.”

”Answers to what?”

”To questions I don't even know how to ask.” He touched her hair, and she closed her eyes at the whisper-light touch, so gentle.

Right now.

He was confusing her, scaring her a little. She opened her eyes and gripped the stake down at her side. His fingertips trailed to her temple and grazed her earlobe. His long lashes glistened-was he crying?-as he closed his eyes and sighed.

”Jenn,” he whispered, ”when I was a man, I never . . .” He lowered his head slightly. ”I was never with anyone.”

She cleared her throat. ”Me, neither,” she confessed. ”For a Cali girl I'm, ah, behind the times,” she added, trying to cut the tension that was building between them.

”This is a coa.r.s.e age,” he said. ”Even before the war. Women pressured to parade around half dressed. Men aren't taught to respect women. To treat them as special, and sacred. When I was . . . when I lived in my village, I was taught to stand up if a woman walked into the room. I would carry her parcels. I would open doors.”

His shoulders rounded, and for a moment she could see his age in his eyes. He was nearly ninety years old. Older even than Papa Che, the grandfather she had wors.h.i.+pped, and had lost so recently. She'd gone to California to attend Papa Che's funeral, and that was when her father had betrayed her and Heather to the vampires.

”I just wanted to watch out for you, protect you,” he said brokenly. When he looked at her, he was young again, and it was almost as if he glowed. It made her catch her breath. It nearly made her cry. She shouldn't love him. It was stupid and hopeless. But she did.

”And you've watched out for me,” she said. Her voice broke.

”I will always watch out for you,” Antonio murmured. He leaned toward her.

He's going to kiss me. Her heart beat furiously; her body responded. But we shouldn't. Not now.

She thought she told him not to, but all she heard was silence. No words spoken, none possible or necessary as Antonio grabbed her hand and kissed it, then cradled it against his chest.

”Ay, mi amor,” he whispered. ”Mi luz. Mi alma.” My love. My light. My soul. She understood enough Spanish to understand what he was saying. But she didn't understand him.

”Look at me, Jenn. Look at the one who loves you,” he murmured, letting go of her hair and lacing his fingers behind her head. Then somehow her head was tipping back, as he bent her backward, and she was staring up into his eyes. His deep, brown eyes with heavy, dark brows, his forehead creased with emotion. His eyes . . .

”Look at me,” he said again.

His red eyes.

Oh, no, she thought, but the words slipped away into somewhere, some dream or hope or other place. She tried to look away, but his gaze was locked onto her, and she had to stare into his red, glowing eyes. Her heart was beating so hard she knew it was going to burst. She couldn't break away. He was cold against her skin as he gripped her shoulders, looming over her, willing her to arch her back, bare her neck.

Stop. Stop him, she thought, but those words slipped away too. Her heart . . . it hurt. She clenched her fists. Where was the stake? She was no longer holding the stake. Antonio was going to bite her. He was going to take her blood. Antonio.

Evil.

His eyes.

His fangs.

STONEHENGE, ENGLAND.

JAMIE.

THIS SITE IS CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.

Jamie grunted as he put the motorcycle he had stolen into idle and stationed his booted foot down on the tarmac. His gaze moved from the large metal sign to Stonehenge itself. The large circle of stones was fenced off with chain-link.

That was the English for you, telling you they were sorry while they inconvenienced you to your grave and back. We apologize for breaking your country into bits. We apologize for the fact that there was no Irish Hunter to save your people from being ripped apart by werewolves.

He'd thought to blend in with the tourists in order to have a look round. But there were no tourists to be seen. War had a way of taking the fun out of life.