A Long Walk Home Ch. 09

Denial ripped across his face, his gorge rising at the very thought of it. He wasn't stupid, he knew what she said was true. She had to have fed him her blood for him to still be alive. His hatred hardened, grew, reached out and overwhelmed him completely. "When I heal I'm going to kill you," he promised; his voice low and guttural.

"By the time you heal enough to try it will be a moot point, little doggie," she laughed, standing and scooping up her documents. "Seeing as you're not going to sleep anytime soon, I'll finish my work elsewhere. You're distracting me." She headed further into the back of the room, disappearing through a door he hadn't noticed before.

Dayton cursed loudly, furious at his helplessness and the way she laughed at him. Her cryptic comments crashed through him and he tried hard to work out what she meant by them. Was she leaving the area? Everyone already thought she had. She was obviously working on something judging from the documents she was poring over. Was she tidying up last minute details to do with her finances before she vanished completely?

The thought of her escaping without punishment was a knife to his heart. He knew he didn't stand a hope in hell of actually killing her but if he could at least hear her scream once before he died, it would be worth it. He ignored the fact that she had healed him, saved his life. To do so, she had forced her blood inside him, tainted him even more than she already had. He had no desire to thank her for that, only to curse her even more.

It went against all his natural instincts for self preservation but he lay back down and closed his eyes. One thing Freya Eriksson was right about. He did need to sleep to heal faster. And the faster he healed the quicker he would be able to end this war with the stunningly beautiful vampire who had shredded his heart in a way no one else ever could.

Freya leaned against the closed door, listening intently until she heard the sound of Dayton's deep slow breathing, signalling he was once more asleep. She had mixed a clear sleeping potion into his water, something that was practically undetectable. She had known the wolf wouldn't have voluntarily slept once he knew he was helpless before her and he needed the rest so his body could repair itself.

She re-entered the room and walked to the sofa, standing over the sleeping man. The hate was gone from his expression though his mouth was tight with the strain of the damage done to his body even as he slept. He looked so helpless, so vulnerable that she couldn't resist reaching down and touching the long streak of silver that marred the perfection of his thick brown hair.

What must it feel like to love so deeply, to care so much for another living being that a person's hair lost all colour at their passing? She loved Nors so much, Ashleigh and Liam too, but would their loss cause her hair to turn silver, her heart to break so badly that decades later it was still shattered in a million pieces?

She wanted to be able to understand this man, this proud wolf who raged against the injustice of his life even as he believed he wanted it to end. He was quite frankly the most complex person she had ever come across, complicated and fascinating at the same time. His emotions were in turmoil, ripping him apart and the only way he could cope with them was to latch onto one and hold onto it with a tenacity that was breathtaking.

That emotion was his hatred for her and while she admired the strength of it, the lethal, dangerous edge to it which she could relate to so well, she was also astounded to find that it cut her deeply, lancing against the cold heart beating in her chest.

This wolf would never rest until she died. Maybe he would find the way out of his personal abyss when that happened but she doubted it. She'd been alive too long, seen and done too many things as she'd roamed the world. She knew the truth of it; hate solved nothing. It festered, twisted and corrupted a soul until there was nothing left but pain and emptiness. She was a living, breathing advertisement of that.

"Don't let it claim you too," she whispered softly, her hand tracing the strong jaw beneath her fingertips. "Fight, Dayton. Fight with everything within you because you're so much better than I'll ever be. So much stronger, so much more deserving. Don't surrender to it. Remember what it was like to live, to laugh and love with your beautiful Faith. Live for both us and maybe, just maybe, I will have done one good thing in my life which made it all worthwhile."

Words whispered across his sleeping mind, a soft feminine voice so full of anguish his heart ached at the sound. He couldn't hear the words, couldn't understand them but he knew the sound of agony when he heard it because it was an echo of what he felt. Every day since Faith had died he'd replayed the moment of her death at least once, his heart shattering all over again as he cradled her body in his arms and howled his grief into the forest air.

Pain was something he understood, something he reacted to; instinctively. He tried to swim up from his drugged sleep, tried to reach out to the woman whose voice shed tears of agony though he knew her eyes were dry. But sleep claimed him completely, the voice whispering in his subconscious, his wolf howling mournfully as he surrendered to the blessed relief of unconsciousness.

When Dayton next woke it was early morning and he could tell he'd slept the day and night through. The smell of food cooking wafted from the kitchen and his stomach rumbled. His body needed food almost as much as it needed liquid to replenish his blood loss. He shifted slightly on the sofa and found himself able to move a little bit easier, his weakness having receded a bit though his body still ached.

A mug of coffee was on the table beside him and he looked at it suspiciously wondering if it was drugged. He'd tasted the slight aftertaste of some kind of drug in his water too late the day before. He didn't trust the vampire not to drug his coffee as well.

"You needed sleep yesterday." Her voice drifted in from the kitchen. "Today you need to start moving around."

He bit his lip not to respond to the cold amusement in her tone. Could she read his mind? He'd always believed vampires couldn't mess with Were minds, not without a great deal of difficulty.

Taking a deep breath he threw off the blanket blinking in surprise when he found a pair of male silk pyjama bottoms covering his nakedness. Had she gone shopping while he was sleeping? Sliding his legs down to the wooden floor he noted that the material was a few inches too long for him. Understanding came a moment later. They would fit Nors perfectly. This retreat must have been one she shared with her brother at one time or another.

"Bathroom's through the door, second on the left. Do you need any help?"

"I'd rather piss myself first," he muttered under his breath, forcing his aching body to stand on unsteady feet.

Tinkling laughter, full of genuine amusement sounded. "Well you can clean it up if you do. Being a nursemaid doesn't come naturally to me and there are some things I most definitely won't do."

He bit off a curse, forgetting her enhanced vampire hearing. Her response made the corner of his mouth twitch a fraction. Imaging Freya Eriksson getting her hands dirty like that was actually amusing. For a second she almost sounded a little human.

He pushed the thought away ruthlessly and made his way slowly but steadily in the direction she'd indicated. Once safely in the bathroom he looked down at his injuries, surprised to see how many there were on his upper torso alone. They were vivid red in colour, painful in the extreme but none of them appeared to have been life threatening which had to have been a miracle in itself.

Locking the door he made his way over to the modern, stand alone shower and turned it on to a very hot setting. He used the toilet while he waited for the steam to begin to fog up the room. Stripping off the silk pyjama bottoms he eyed his legs critically. More puncture marks where the stakes had entered his body but it was the one on his left thigh that ached the most and drew his attention.

The fatal one. He knew enough about anatomy to know that he must have punctured his femoral artery, that this one was the wound that had almost taken his life. It would have if the vampire outside hadn't acted quickly to save him.

Stepping into the shower he examined his conflicting emotions over that. He knew what she'd had to do to stop him bleeding out. It turned his stomach just thinking about it and yet, if she hadn't done it he wouldn't be here now, standing in her shower, plotting ways to end her life. His wolf stirred, a faint howl echoing inside him as he pushed the animal down. His subconscious also stirred, a faint whispered sound of anguish drifting across his mind as he carefully washed himself.

He didn't know what that sound meant or why his wolf wanted to surface and break their agreement. All he knew was he couldn't be distracted from his goal because it was all that was keeping him together at the moment, his need to take revenge on the woman who had saved his life. The thought was wrong, so very, very wrong and yet he stoked the need, the crippling need to find some surcease from the rage and agony ripping him apart.

Hurting Freya Eriksson was the only way to do that. Killing her would be preferable but he knew that was a pipedream. She had taken everything from him, first Faith and then Rayne. His friend's betrayal was a wound almost as deep as the one Faith had left in his soul. Rayne's empathy for the vampire ripped through him, hurt him; brought tears to his eyes. Freya had taken the only other woman he had let into his life, stolen their friendship, his trust in her. She deserved nothing but pain in return and he was going to be the one who inflicted it.

Determination on his face, he dried off carefully and looked at the clothing on the floor with distaste. He didn't want to be so vulnerable around the vampire. He guessed that she must have washed him, bathed him even while he lay unconscious. He would have been drenched in blood from his injuries and yet he'd been clean and dressed when he'd woken up.

Just the thought of her hands on his naked flesh was enough to stoke his hatred higher. No woman had touched him so intimately since Faith. It was another black mark against the vampire, another score that needed to be settled as she took every last precious moment with his mate away from him.

Opening the bathroom door he was about to try the other rooms, figuring if Nors had pyjama's here then he should have some clothes too. If he could find the Ancient's bedroom he could at least dress himself in proper clothes. He paused when he saw a chair resting directly against the wall from the door. On it was jeans, a shirt, some socks and a pair of boots.

Oddly enough he wasn't that surprised. He should have been, because her actions called her a liar, about being a nursemaid not coming easily to her. Her actions so far clearly indicated that somewhere in her cold heart, some level of compassion lived, that she was capable of doing the right thing if she really wanted to.

Again, he felt a moment of softening towards the vampire and again he pushed it ruthlessly away. He wouldn't be diverted by a small act of kindness. She was a vampire, the perfect vampire even. She was so coldly ruthless, so feral and dangerous it was a wonder she had attained Ancient status. He was sure it was only because Nors had protected her, reined in her worse excesses.

Grabbing the clothes he retreated into the bathroom and dressed quickly, running his hands through his hair to tame its wildness. There was a brush on the counter beside the vanity mirror but he ignored it. It was a feminine brush, her brush and he wouldn't have it anywhere near him.

The clothes were a bit big for him but they were adequate enough. At least the boots fit. Finally feeling as if he'd donned enough armour to face the waiting vampire, he left the bathroom and headed back into the main living area.

Freya looked up from the papers in her hand and watched the wolf enter the room. His face was hard, determined and she had to fight down a smile as he reluctantly came towards the table and sat down in front on the plate of food waiting for him. She could hear his stomach rumbling, knew that he would hate every single mouthful he was forced to eat of his breakfast.

She eyed him intently, taking in the slightly healthier pallor of his skin, his long wet hair, scruffy as it lay down his back in tangles. Males were so silly sometimes they actually amused her. She had to fight harder to hide her smile. Her hairbrush must have been a step too far for this proud wolf with hate in his eyes. She would find one of Nors' brushes and leave it out for him.

He attacked the food quickly ignoring her as he forked bacon, sausages and eggs into his mouth. He paused long enough to drink the fresh coffee she'd prepared and take a bite out of the mountain of toast on a separate plate.

He was tense, his big body taut as he ate. Dayton Alexander was a wild animal, full of rage and hate, in a world of agony because he was quite literally at the mercy of and reliant on the one person in the world that he detested most. It was simply heartbreaking to watch him.

Stunned shock rocked through Freya as the thought danced across her mind. She dropped her eyes back to her documents, aware that she was running out of time and had so much to get done. Taking care of the wolf hadn't factored into her plans and it was delaying her timescale. Feeling empathy for him was also something she hadn't expected. It was confusing, unwanted. She couldn't falter now.

"Who would have thought you could cook," he finally broke the silence between mouthfuls of food. There was grudging respect in his words, pulled out through gritted teeth.

"I can do many things," she replied in a bored tone, not taking her eyes from the legal document in front of her. "Just because I don't eat doesn't mean I can't cook. I had a human lover once a few decades ago. He was quite talented in the bedroom for one so weak. I kept him around for a little while."

She sensed him stiffen slightly and smiled. Most probably not the response he had expected. Neil had been talented in the bedroom, enough to make her gentle her ways a bit, to steal a few years of respite from the monster within. He hadn't touched her heart but he earned her respect enough that she had made the effort to at least simulate some caring.

It hadn't lasted. It couldn't really, not when he realised she was incapable of loving him. But it had been pleasant while it had lasted and she did feel some fondness for the man who had tried to win her heart but had ultimately failed.

"I don't know whether to pity the poor bastard or pin a medal on him," Dayton answered before he went back to eating.

She laughed softly, raising her head to meet his gaze. It was a cold laugh, completely without warmth. "Most definitely pity him," she drawled softly. "I broke his heart and left him ruined for any other woman that came along in his life; as I've done with all my other lovers."

Cold chips of blue ice bored into her, his expression so hard she was surprised his jaw didn't shatter under all that tension. "I think I'd rather pin the medal on him," he answered slowly. "At least he was brave enough to try even if he was foolish to do so. Any man who tries to win the heart of a cold hearted bitch like you most definitely deserves a medal."

Freya smiled again, dropping her eyes back to her papers. "As you wish," she drawled smoothly, her tone once again bored.

Dayton ate because his body needed it. He ignored how tasty the food was viewing it as simply fuel. He would take no pleasure out of something she'd done for him. His jibe about her old lover didn't appear to faze her at all, not judging from the smile on her face. She really didn't care that she'd ruined a man's life, just as she didn't care that she'd ripped his apart either. He retreated back inside himself, trying to block out her presence and the sweet scent of cherry blossom which wafted over him.

He had almost finished eating when a cell phone rang and he listened intently as she picked up the device close to her hand. He expected her to leave the room but she took the call in front of him.

"Did you get the last set of documents?" she asked without any unnecessary small talk. She listened for a moment and then spoke again. "I'm still reading through the last transfer papers. I was sidetracked a little. I should have them signed and back to you by the end of the week. That will conclude our business."

Another short pause to assimilate the answer and then she ended the call and went back to her reading. His curiosity was piqued and he couldn't stop himself from asking the question that was suddenly burning for an answer.

"You're leaving?"

Did she stiffen slightly? Was that a slight chink in the cold vampire's armour? He must have imagined it because when her eyes met hers she even rivalled his coldness when looking at her.

"Yes, I suppose you could say I am," she answered with a slight smile.

There was something ominous about the way she said it, something hidden within the very words which he couldn't work out. His wolf stirred again and he almost growled in irritation at the animal's presence where it wasn't wanted.

He expected Freya to look away and return to her reading but her gaze remained fixed to his and he was once more struck by just how stunningly beautiful she was. Beautiful as only a cold, marble statue could be.

"Your mate must have been a pretty despicable creature," she suddenly said throwing him so off balance that for a moment he could only stare at her stunned before rage reared up inside him and his temper exploded.

"Don't you ever speak about her," he growled hoarsely. "Not one fucking word! She was worth a million of you, Freya. Ten million! And you will not degrade her by speaking about her. Ever!"

"Oh dear, did I pick at a scab there?" she laughed softly, her eyes glittering wildly, the deep green suddenly ringed by a fire of red that was disconcerting to look at. "And here was me thinking you were made of ice, Dayton. It would appear I was wrong."

Her laughter pushed him over the edge and his hand tightened around the knife in his hand until his knuckles were white with the effort of holding back from throwing it at her.

"Shut your fucking mouth!" he roared, his wolf howling wildly, his body quaking with rage.

"Don't you like hearing the truth?" she asked tilting her head to the side with a mocking smile on her exquisite face. "I only asked because it strikes me that any woman who would expect her mate to bleed as you bleed for her must have been truly despicable while alive. I wonder if there's a Heaven up there, Dayton. Do you think your Faith is up there right now, riding the cock of some gorgeous angel while laughing at you down here, wallowing in your self pity, crying over a woman who turned to dust decades ago?"

Agony, hot blinding agony raced through his veins. Reason left him, mindless, savage rage and hatred all that was left of him. The knife sailed through the air, deadly, lethal, intent on the throat of the woman who desecrated his last remaining memory of his mate, his beautiful, loving Faith.

His aim was weak, his injuries still hampering him. She didn't move out of the way, waited for the knife to nick her skin, for her blood to flow. He'd hit her on the side of her neck, the knife burying deep though missing any major arteries. Not that it would have mattered because she was vampire. Only total decapitation would have ended her life.