The Becoming

Chapter Thirty-Three

Avery pulls me away from Williams. What have you done?

But there's no anger or rancor in his tone or on his face. I search his mind, find nothing I can read there, either. A wave of desolation sweeps over me. I don't know.

He gathers me against his chest, rocking me as he would a child. It's all right.

I want to burrow into Avery, let his strong arms protect me from a danger I can't even begin to understand. But I know it's not possible. The danger is within me. Reluctantly, I move away from him.

I don't know what happened.

Avery's eyes move from Williams's face to my own. You didn't drain him?

My eyes widen. It's a simple question but the implication that Avery knows I could have drained Williams surprises me. No. He spoke to me. Just before...

A stirring in Avery's mind, a subtle shift. What did he say?

He's guarding his thoughts, but this time in a different way. Not just to prevent me from reading them, but to protect something.

Himself? From me?

He frowns. Tell me, Anna. What did he say?

Nothing that made sense. He told me I was “the one.” That I had the power. He told me to ask you what that meant. And then he was gone. Avery, is he dead?

Avery moves to Williams, kneels beside the body, presses a hand to his chest. He's not dead.

Then what?

He's in stasis.

Stasis? What does that mean?

Avery passes a hand over his face as if suddenly weary. It happens sometimes with us. A withdrawal from reality. It's a kind of suspended animation. Vampires do it when they're under severe pressure or when they feel death approach. He feared you would kill him.

A shudder passes through me. I feared I would kill him, too. I wanted to. He doesn't know where David is or who has him, and yet, he would have lied if I hadn't taken the information.

I bring my eyes up to meet Avery's. He is watching me closely, a frown still pulling at the corners of his mouth. He knew once you took what you needed, you would be finished with him. He thought you would kill him. This is the way he protected himself.

But I could have killed him anyway.

He took the risk that you had enough humanity left in you to prevent that. He was right, wasn't he?

Was he? I'm not sure.

I turn away from Avery, and Williams. I can't look at either of them.

How long will he be like this?

I feel Avery come close. His hands touch my shoulders. When he speaks, it's a whisper in my ear.

"There's no way of telling. It could be hours. It could be days or weeks."

"What do we do with him then? What do we tell his wife?"

Avery turns me to face him. She will be told the truth. Williams will have prepared her for this possibility. As for the rest of the world, Chief Williams will have suffered a stroke. We have a facility nearby where his needs will be met. He will be well cared for. You did nothing wrong. Now, I must make some telephone calls. Perhaps it would be better if you went upstairs. No one need know you were here.

Reluctantly, I agree. There will be nothing to gain by complicating matters with my presence. The truth will not be known to anyone except Williams's wife, and even then, I'm sure what Avery tells her will be an altered version of what really happened. Again, I owe Avery my life. He always seems to have my best interest at heart.

I trudge up the stairs to my room. I stretch out on the bed, listening as an ambulance arrives, listening as voices drift up and away, listening as Avery recounts a story that is accepted as the truth because of who he is. Eventually, the voices quiet, the sirens move off, and Avery is at my side.

It's over now. You are safe.

But David is not.

Avery sits on the edge of the bed, draws me to him. I'm sorry about David. But Williams was your last hope to find him. You must let it go now.

Despair settles around me like a velvet curtain being drawn, thick and black and shutting out hope. Still, I shake my head, fighting it.

I don't understand this, I tell him. Why was David taken? What sense does it make? I've gone over this a thousand times in my head. If it had been Donaldson or the Revengers, at least there's a connection there. They know I'm a vampire. But David knows nothing about what happened. He isn't a threat to anyone. I can't let it go until I find out what happened to him and why. I won't.

Avery's arms drop away. Aggravation and impatience form a crease in his brow, though he fights to conceal it from his thoughts.

Instead, the tone of his voice is patient and full of understanding.

"What do you think you can do now? You've exhausted all leads. There's no one left to help."

"Then I'll start over. I'll go back to Beso de la Muerte . I'll talk with Donaldson's vampire friends. Maybe I was wrong about him.

Maybe David is there somewhere—"

"Do you really think he'd still be alive if he was?” Avery pushes himself to his feet. “You can't keep doing this. You have to accept that David is lost. You must learn to separate yourself from mortals. It's a lesson best learned at the beginning. It will save you centuries of heartache. One day you will look back at this and realize it was the best thing that could have happened to you."

Avery's agitation is like a knife thrust. He pounds one fist into the other as he paces. “It could have been worse,” he continues.

“Don't you realize it could have been your parents or Max that were taken? This is a warning. You are not like them anymore. You are immortal. You will watch your parents wither and die, and Max will be a vessel to draw from, nothing more. You don't need them anymore, Anna. You don't need anyone—"

But me.

Avery opens his mind and the frenzy of negative feeling is gone. Instead, his thoughts are full of love, overwhelming, complete. He's beside me on the bed, his look a question.

Confusion snarls my thoughts. I start to pull away, but his emotion is so intense, I'm swept along. I'm in his arms and I can't tell where his passion leaves off and mine begins.

I don't fight it. I don't want to. I don't understand what's happening, but he offers me the one thing I seem to find only in his arms—

safety. I let him strip off my clothes, feel his hand sear a path down my abdomen, explore my thighs, move up. My own urgency soon matches his. This is much more than sexual desire and the degree to which I respond stuns me. I find myself calling his name over and over. And more.

Love, intense, relentless as a rip tide permeates my being.

Can he feel it?

Do I want him to?

It's too late to wonder about it now. Imprisoned in a web of arousal, I let desire spiral through me until it soars to a height of passion I have never known before.