Page 73 of Vampire's Hearth

Mac and I stalked up the stairs and into my room. My lower lip quivered in anger, a chill running through my entire body as I stood in front of the French doors leading to the gallery, my arms crossed over my chest. Through the windows, the night stretched over the dark forest. The list of things that had gone wrong since I set foot in Georgia kept multiplying. I took a deep breath, my lungs yearning for the heavy, deep, scented air from outside instead of the cool, crisp, air-conditioned mass that froze my chest. Why had Mac been hunched over a body? Where had he spent his hours after? Why were Lyra and Aunt Amara teaming up against me, especially after Amara had told me to follow my heart?

Mac’s arms wrapped around me from behind. I allowed his hand to guide me to face him and pull me to his chest. The warmth of his body was soothing as I leaned my head against him and sighed, inhaling the fragrance of the brackish Irish waters that never seemed to leave him. My hands clung to his silky shirt, looking for the strength to keep pushing forward. “I don’t understand,” I murmured.

He placed his hand against the back of my head and held me close. Something about the embrace felt different from before—strong and protective yet utterly gentle. My heart slowed as I settled into his arms, my eyes closed. Here, I could pretend everything was right with the world, even when it was falling apart around me.

Finally, I pulled back and pointed at the seating area in front of the fireplace, its charcoal-gray velvet edged with cypress taken from the plantation itself. The light from the chandelier cast a serene glow over the area. Mac followed my motions, his gaze hard under the lines etched on his forehead. I glanced around and let out a small, nervous laugh. “I wish I had something to offer you to drink right now.”

A playful glint flashed in Mac’s eye, and I knew his mind had concluded I had a drink to offer him, but one he wouldn’t ask me for. Instead, he shrugged, a faint smile stretching over his lips. “It’s okay.” His eyes flickered back and forth across the chairs before he sat in the one less used.

I took my seat in my usual chair, marveling at the man across from me—so proper in everything he did, bound by a duty to his family so much like me. I smoothed my hands over my hair, pulling it back from my shoulders. Mac watched, his eyes never faltering, his soft gaze confirming his patience was never tested. Time must move differently after nine hundred years. My voice was small as I looked into his eyes, finally choosing a topic. “So… do you want to explain the dead guy?”

Mac sighed, shaking his head and biting the inside of his cheek. “I’d love to explain it, but I can’t. I don’t know where he came from. But one thing’s clear—he was a message for me.” Mac rubbed the back of his neck.

I tilted my head, my brow furrowed in confusion. “Why do you say that?”

He reached into his pocket, retrieving his phone, and tapped on the screen. “Because this is what sent me there.” He handed me the phone.

I looked at the map, a pin in the location where I had found him. Above it was the O’Cillian crest. “Who would even know that you’re here? And whose number is that?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice growing tense. “It seems to be a burner phone. But brutal killing isn’t my style. It is—” His sentence broke off abruptly, leaving an ominous silence between us. His hand tightened into a fist on his knee as he clenched his jaw.

I leaned forward, frustration rising in my chest, tired of the half sentences and stories for another day. I grasped my pendant, my knuckles turning white. “It’s the style of who, Mac? Who are you not telling me about?”

Mac shook his head again, his eyes darkening. “Nobody. It’s not worth talking about right now. What is important for you to know is that I teach all of my sirelings, any vampire who asks really, how to feed without pain or death.”

Anger rose in my chest as I sat back with a huff, crossing my arms over my chest. “So you want me to believe it wasn’t you—that you had no hand in killing the person whose body you were found leaning over, even if you didn’t feed from him? You’re telling me it was in the style of some random vampire, but you won’t tell me who?”

“Aurora, please,” he mumbled, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. He reached across the divide between us, putting a hand on my knee. “I can’t yet, but I promise—”

I yanked my leg to the side, shaking his hand off. “Then when?” I shot back, my voice rising as I sat up straight in the chair. “When are you going to finally tell me the truth? The truth about who you really are and what you’re hiding?”

Mac’s shoulders slumped, his body seeming to fold under an invisible weight. As though every movement drained what little strength he had left, his head sank into his hands. His fingers trembled before he dragged them through his dark hair, clutching at it as if trying to hold himself together.

When he finally looked up, his eyes—raw and exposed, brimming with a pain I had never seen before—met mine. My chest tightened as I pressed my lips into a thin line. I couldn’t look away from him.

“Please, Rory,” he whispered, his voice almost hoarse. “I need you to trust me. To know that everything I’m doing—everything—is to protect you.”

“That’s the problem, Mac. You keep trying to protect me. Protect me from what? You have a fear with no evidence. I’m going to be the High Priestess of one of the most powerful covens ever created. We’ve been charged with keeping the balance between light and dark—with protecting a Cure we can’t even find—and we’re failing.”

I sat forward, my hands on my knees, my palms open to him. I wanted to take his hands in mine, to understand him. I took a deep breath. “My coven is dying, and you can help me.”

Mac raised his eyes, a hollow, glassy look consuming them, the surrounding skin pulled taut.

“Why won’t you help me?” I demanded, my voice cracking as I struggled to hold back tears.

He took a deep breath, his eyes falling to the floor. “Because you’ll get hurt. I… I care about you. More than I should.” Mac refused to lift his gaze to meet mine.

I blinked, his words sinking in. Amara’s reasoning why he would help the coven was in the back of my mind. “What do you mean you care more about me than you should?”

Mac stood and walked to the doors that led to the gallery, his back to me for a long moment before he turned. His face was so conflicted, so torn, my heart went out to him, and my anger faded. He leaned against the doorframe, looking out, refusing to look at me, his voice small as he finally spoke. “I don’t understand why, Rory, but I am so drawn to you. I can’t let you out of my sight. I need to be a part of your life. And that’s never happened before.”

My heart fluttered at his words. “You can’t be serious. In nine hundred years, you have never had a serious relationship?”

Mac crossed the room and kneeled on the floor in front of me. He placed his hands on my lap, taking my own in his, and gazed into my eyes. My heart raced as the warmth of his hands engulfed mine, chasing away the chill in my spine. The one thing I could be sure of was that Mac would protect me, even if it meant hurting himself by lying to me. I hated it, but I understood.

“I can tell you, after these past few days, I’ve never felt this before. There’s never been a woman I wanted to take as my mate—until now.”

“You want to take me as your mate?” I almost scoffed. I didn’t dare hope his words were true after the number of stories he hid.

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