Page 26 of The Last Vampire
“Somewhere we will not be interrupted.” He says it mostly to himself, but she hears him because her footfalls go silent.
“Interrupted from what?”
He does not answer or break his stride. After walking for a while, he still does not hear her moving.
The vampire cuts back to her so quickly that she startles and loses her footing. He catches her by the arm and pulls her in close.
“You will do as I say,” he warns, his gaze trailing down her throat. Her heart speeds up, and despite the fact that he experienced only six months as a vampire and never took to it, he finds himself relishing her fear.
“Why should I help you if you’re just going to kill me?” she asks in a breathy whisper, as if terror has stolen the strength from her voice.
He rips his stare from her neck and meets her eyes. “So that your friends do not have to die with you.”
Distress swims in her gaze, her irises swirling like molten gold.
He lets her go and keeps forging ahead. As he rounds the corner of the manor, William spots a garden enclosed in tall-stemmed plants. He waits for her there.
When the girl enters the semiprivate area, he is inspecting a bush with floppy red leaves. “Where is the rest of my kind?” he asks without looking up.
A pause.
“Y-your kind?” she asks when he pins her with his stare. “You—they don’t exist.”
He studies her expression for any sign of deceit or manipulation.
“Is the Legion near?” he asks. “Have the vampires gone into hiding? Does the Treaty still hold?”
She looks back at him in despair, her face as blank as those books in the basement.
If she does not know about the Treaty, it may no longer be in effect. He must seek these answers, yet he hesitates to leave behind any evidence. And as he cannot compel the girl to forget him, he has only one option.
“Are you sure you’re from this universe?” she asks, sounding almost hopeful. “Maybe—maybe you come from, like, another dimension—”
“This world has changed substantially since the 1700s, but I still recognize it.”
She gapes at him.
“You’rethree hundredyears old—?”
“I made a mistake with you,” he says, and she shuts her mouth. “I drank too quickly, and you got away.”
She takes a step back, and it is amusing that she thinks she stands a chance at escaping. Endearing, even.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says.
The plea strikes a wound that is somehow still tender, even after all this time. He uttered similar words once.
“Alas, I do,” he says, his approach so slow as to be imperceptible.
“Y-you said I’m your Familiar. What does that mean?”
He knows she is only trying to delay the inevitable, yet he finds that he does not mind. The predatory instinct that he was missing when he was first turned has switched on at last, and he is relieved to give himself over to the monster within.
“In my day, to be a Familiar was a great honor bestowed upon the trustworthy. Particularly as the distinction marks a human as unable to be compelled by any vampire and offers them other protections.”
He is no more than four feet away, and she looks down at his shoes, like she has just registered that he has been moving closer.
“Yet given the precariousness of my circumstances, leaving you alive is too great a risk.”
