Forever Starts Now Page 22

  It was early in the afternoon, her senses were telling her; her usual waking time. She had awakened alone before, but after the previous night, after Matthew had made love to her with such passion, after he had heard her declare her love for him without immediately denying she could feel any such thing, after he had watched her sleep for so long, she had thought things would be different.

  She discovered as soon as she stepped out of her room that things were indeed different, much more so than she had anticipated. Matthew hadn't simply left their bed. He had joined Diane in hers.

  For long minutes, she stood in front of Diane's open door, frozen mid step and her mind wiped blank. Deep down, she had known that Matthew and Diane were lovers. She had known since the first time she had seen them on the dance floor at On The Edge, focused on each other and ignoring the world around them. She had thought she had taken Diane's place. She had never seen them so much as kiss since she had been sired. She had never imagined that Matthew might begin a night in her arms and finish it in Diane's.

  She managed to force herself into movement when one of them stirred. It was hard to tell who, tangled as they were, half covered by rumpled sheets. Shivering, she walked to the bathroom and locked herself in. She remained under the spray of hot water for close to an hour, but the ice that had settled in her bones did not even begin to melt. She was still in shock when she finally came out but determined to understand what was going on.

  Matthew was reading in the living room, clad only in a robe and reclining on the sofa. Claire kept her eyes on his face as she approached to sit on the armchair next to him, but he never looked up at her until she finally managed to speak, her voice very low because of her too tight throat.

  "Did I do something wrong?"

  He lowered the book just enough for her to know she had his attention.

  "Something wrong? Not that I know of. Why would you think so?"

  He seemed genuinely puzzled by her question. Claire wrapped her arms around herself.

  "You weren't there when I woke up."

  "I told you before,” he said, his tone taking the accents of a lecture. “I don't need as much sleep as you do. As years pass, you'll progressively need less and less sleep."

  Claire let a few seconds pass in silence, unsure how to ask her next question without making it an accusation. She didn't want to whine, nor did she want to sound too possessive, but she needed to understand.

  * * * *

  Seconds trickled by, the silence almost deafening. Matthew waited.

  His resolve had almost cracked when she had asked if she had done anything wrong. He should have known she would blame herself for this. All he could do now was make it clear that nothing she could have done differently would have changed anything. As soon as she asked, he would impress that on her. If she blamed him, she would find it easier to let go of the feelings she thought she had for him.

  "Did you sleep with Diane?” she asked at last. “Did you sleep with her after you slept with me?"

  Matthew clutched at his mask of indifference even as it wavered with the pain in her voice.

  "If you're asking if I fucked her, you already know the answer to that. You can smell her on me, can't you?"

  At her grimace, he knew she had not allowed herself to recognize the scent of sex clinging to him until now. It was so much like her to turn a blind eye to what she didn't want to be true.

  "Why?"

  The whisper barely concealed tears that wouldn't take long to fall, now. Matthew could only be thankful that the ordeal was almost over.

  "Why not?"

  She shook her head, eyes wide with incomprehension.

  "We're not married, sweetie,” he pushed on. “I'm your Sire, and as such all I owe you is to teach you enough to survive. I've done that. Nothing says we can't take other lovers."

  "But I thought ... I thought you ... cared about me."

  The pleading in her eyes was too much to take. Matthew stood and brushed the tips of his fingers to her cheek. They came away wet with salt.

  "Of course I care about you, Childe. But that doesn't mean we're in a monogamous relationship. I thought I had taught you better than that."

  He didn't wait for her to answer and walked away. If he allowed her tears or words to touch him now, it would all have been for nothing. It was better this way, for the both of them. She deserved to find someone worthy of her, someone who hadn't betrayed her trust by leaving her to die. And maybe when she was gone he wouldn't be reminded so often of his broken promise. Whatever pain they felt until then was only temporary, however great it may be.

  * * * *

  The melody drifted down from the scene, the piano chords accentuated by the deep notes of a violin. Claire was barely aware of either, her entire attention focused on the couple sitting at a table near the scene. Diane and Matthew were too far for her to hear what they were whispering, but she could read their faces well enough. She hadn't seen Matthew smile like that in quite some time.

  She had tried to sit at the table with them when they had arrived at the blood bar, but Matthew had stopped her, explaining in as few words as possible that he and Diane had plans. That these plans did not include her had been all too easy to grasp. She should have understood as much when they had left the apartment, yet again, without inviting her. It had only been sheer luck that she had caught up with them this time as they waited for the elevator, and while they hadn't sent her away, neither of them had told her where they were going or why. Claire had been surprised when they had reached the blood bar; she had been sure that Diane liked the place as little as she did.

  A man stopped in front of Claire's booth, blocking her view of Matthew's table just as a couple was approaching it. Frowning, she looked up at the man's face, ready to ask him to move.

  "Good evening, Miss. Do you mind if I sit with you?"

  He was cute enough, part of her noticed, ashy blond hair and brown eyes that seemed to sparkle as he looked at her. Any other time, she would have welcomed him.

  "Sorry, I'm waiting for someone,” she lied. She couldn't bear the idea of feeding now.

  The man gave a small disappointed shrug. “Pity. Another time, maybe."

  Claire had dismissed him from her thoughts before he had even walked away. Finally, she could see the small table again. Her stomach lurched. There were now four people seated there, two couples facing each other.

  Even more than before, she wished she could have heard what they were saying. They chatted over glasses of wine, laughing softly every now and then. The human woman flirted openly with Matthew, which her companion did not seem to mind as he eyed Diane appreciatively. Both Matthew and Diane returned the attention bestowed upon them as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The dance seemed too well choreographed, and Claire itched to intrude on it and claim Matthew back. The only thing that stopped her was the sickening certainty that Matthew would dismiss her again as easily as he had for the past few days every time she had tried to get close to him. Since the morning she had found him in Diane's bed, she had often had the impression that she didn't exist anymore as far as he was concerned.

  After close to an hour, the two couples rose together. The woman was holding Matthew's arm as they walked toward the exit, and the man helped Diane drape a shawl over her shoulders before they followed them.

  She wanted to go with them, see whether they were going home to the apartment or to the couple's place instead, and yet she didn't move. She knew, or at least she thought she knew, what was going to happen, and that was more than enough for her.

  She hurt, as much as she had when waking up to find Matthew in Diane's bed, or as much as when he had dismissed her from his life with no more than a few words. As much as when she had received that envelope, months earlier, and opened it to discover pictures of Jonas with another woman. It was the same feeling of deep betrayal that was chilling her down to her bones. She had offered her love and trust, and yet again found that the latter had be
en trampled on, and the former ignored.

  She could have accepted sharing him with Diane. She wouldn't have liked it, but if the same blood link ran between them that ran between Claire and her Sire, she would have accepted it. But the human woman ... that was something completely different. He didn't have to sleep with her to get blood, just like he hadn't needed to sleep with all those girls at On The Edge to feed every night. It was a choice he was making to fuck a pretty woman that meant nothing to him; a choice Claire couldn't live with. She wouldn't share him with every pretty prey that crossed his path. She would lose all self-respect if she closed her eyes on that, just as she had when she had chosen to pretend that Jonas was faithful to her.

  She realized, when she stood and left the blood bar, that she had already made her decision, that all she had needed was to see with her own eyes what Matthew did when he left the apartment without her. She would have thought it would be more difficult than that.

  Leaving her jacket open for the wind to play with, she went home slowly, walking without really seeing anything around her. If she had thought that Matthew loved her as she loved him, she would have fought fangs and nails for him. But he didn't, did he? She was his Childe, and she was the great grand-daughter of a woman he had once loved, but if both things had been sources of obligations for him, they did not mean in any way that he had to love her.

  Morning was close, when she finally reached the apartment. She went to her room and packed her clothes in a bag, then went to bed. She would leave when the sun would set again.

  * * * *

  As soon as Matthew saw Claire walk out of her room with her jacket on and holding a travel bag, he knew. Part of him wanted to breathe a sigh of relief that the charade was finally over. Another part wanted to protest and convince her to stay.

  "Where are you going?” he asked, and hoped that his voice would not betray him.

  "I'm not sure yet."

  Matthew nodded. He had expected as much. “Just don't go back to Haventown,” he cautioned her. “It would be too dangerous. Jonas would try to stake you."

  By the way she bristled at his words, he understood he had lost the right to give her advice. That was only fair, he supposed.

  "I'm not stupid. I'll be careful."

  "I'm sure you will be,” Matthew murmured. A little louder, he added: “You will need money, wherever you're going."

  A fleeting look crossed her face; she didn't seem to have thought beyond the idea that she was leaving. Matthew hid his worry by turning his back on her and walking over to the bookshelves. A wooden box there held some cash that they used for day-to-day expenses. He retrieved all of it and came back to Claire, handing out the bills toward her.

  "I can't—"

  "Of course you can. We have more than enough, I told you that, and I know you can make sure it lasts you a lifetime."

  She hesitated for a second before lowering her eyes.

  "I'll pay you back someday,” she muttered as she slid the strap of her bag over her shoulder and accepted the money from him. She shoved it in a side pocket of the bag. “Thank you."

  "You're welcome. Have a nice journey."

  Her eyes returned to his face at the words, and she scrutinized him for a few moments. The look on her features when she finally understood was heartbreaking. Matthew struggled not to let it touch him.

  "You're not even going to try to stop me, are you?"

  "Why would I?"

  He had repeated to himself that he didn't have to justify himself to her, but in that instant he suddenly needed to.

  "I've taught you everything I can, and you know all you need to take care of yourself."

  A bleak smile tugged at her lips. “I thought you had made it your job to take care of me. Isn't that what you promised Helena? To take care of her family?"

  The blade of her words slid in deep and fast. She couldn't have chosen better words to hurt him, though he doubted she even realized it.

  "I did my best,” was all he answered, even though he burned to say aloud what he had thought for months. He had broken his promise the night he had let Claire die. The best he could do for her now was to make the cut clean and definitive; make it easier for her to stop believing she loved him. “I've kept you close so long only because you look so much like her, but you're not her. You'll never be her."

  Her eyes widened and filled with tears, but she did not cry. She didn't say a word. She waited a little longer, standing in front of him as though waiting for a gesture he couldn't give, a word he wouldn't say. The strap of her duffel bag started sliding off her shoulder, pulling at the collar of her jacket. She hoisted it back up and broke eye contact with Matthew. Her voice rasped like coarse sandpaper.

  "Goodbye, then."

  "Goodbye, sweetie. Remember what you learned."

  She walked past him, her head held high. Matthew did not turn to watch her go. The door closed on her with a whisper rather than the angry crash he had expected. The blade inside him twisted a little more.

  "Silly, silly Childe."

  The murmured words brought his attention to Diane. She had been standing by her bedroom's door for a few moments already, but Matthew had refused to acknowledge her presence until now.

  "Here's a promise for you,” she said as she came to him and cupped his chin in her hand. “If you ever use me again like you did to push her away, I will rip your heart out myself."

  The threat surprised him more than Diane's admission that she knew what he had been doing. He covered her hand with his and slid it to his mouth to lay an apologetic kiss on her palm. Diane sighed.

  "You can still catch her,” she urged him. Her eyes blazed like a wildfire. “She'll forgive you anything if you just ask."

  Matthew looked away. “And then what? Listen to her claim she loves her murderer?"

  Her hand slid to his cheek, the pinpricks of pain where her nails pressed in relenting only when he looked back at her.

  "I killed her. If anyone has to be called a murderer, it's me."

  "I could have stopped you. I should have stopped you. I was supposed to keep her safe, and instead I led her to her death."

  Diane rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air. “You were supposed to do nothing,” she snapped. “You never owed any of them anything. Can't you see that, now that it's over?"

  "What I see is that you don't get it. You never did.” He couldn't help the bitterness from affecting his voice. “It wasn't about owing any of them anything. It was about a promise I made to myself. A promise that means nothing now that she's dead."

  Her eyes flashed with fire again and pinned him where he was. “She's not dead. She's a vampire. I would think that after more than a century of being one yourself you'd now the difference."

  Biting his tongue, Matthew left her in the living room and walked over to the kitchen. Two shots of vodka, one after the other, made his hands shake even more. Diane wasn't long to follow him.

  "So?” she insisted, her crossed arms indicating that she wouldn't let the matter drop so easily. “Do you feel dead?"

  "I never did,” Matthew murmured.

  Diane's face began to reflect her satisfaction, but Matthew wasn't done. He poured himself another glass and watched it intently, unable to bear looking at Diane anymore.

  "I never did until a few weeks back. Until I failed to save her from you."

  She didn't reply. After a few silent minutes, she walked away. Matthew raised the glass to his lips and swallowed the burning anguish. He started pouring yet another glass before realizing that it would be faster to simply drink from the bottle.

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  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The cab came to a stop. Claire looked at the house behind the fenced backyard. Even by the light of the half moon the walls looked brighter than the last time she had been there. Her chest tightened. Six months earlier, she had promised to help Maggie and Tom repaint the exterior of their house. She had left town before she could follow
through.

  "Miss? Isn't this the place?"

  Coming back to the present, she pulled bills from her pocket and handed them over to the driver.

  "It is. Thank you."

  She opened the door and slipped out, pulling her bag after her and hoisting the strap onto her shoulder. She closed the door again and watched the cab drive away. It was too late to change her mind now.

  With some trepidation at how she would be received, she pushed the wooden gate wide open and followed the trail of stepping stones to the front porch. Long stems of lavender, on each side of the trail, brushed against her ankles. She breathed in deeply, the heavy scent reminding her of the sunny day when she had helped Maggie plant the lavender. For a second, she could almost feel the caress of the sun on her skin again, and hear her laugh and Maggie's echoing down the tranquil street.

  When she reached the porch, another breath brought her the fading but still characteristic smell of fresh paint. She hesitated for an instant, then squared her shoulders and knocked on the glass panel in the middle of the door. Maggie had never let her down; there was no reason to believe she would start now.

  She could hear noises inside, a television or maybe the radio. Maggie appeared behind the glass, her belly preceding her in an unmistakable fashion. Instantly, a truly happy smile bloomed on Claire's lips at her friend's pregnancy. Maggie covered her mouth with her hand and her eyes widened in surprise, but she opened the door immediately. Her knuckles whitened as she held on to the doorjamb as though supporting herself.

  "Hey, you,” Claire said softly. “Congratulations seem to be in order."

  Maggie let out a dry sob. She was beaming when her hand dropped from her mouth to her belly. If Claire listened carefully, she could hear the fast heartbeat that echoed Maggie's.

  "I found out a week before you disappeared and I never had the chance to tell you. I've missed you so much."

  With those words, she let go of the doorjamb and started reaching out for Claire, but seemed to think better of it mid-movement. Her smile faded a little, becoming almost pleading.

  "Are you..."