The Warrior Vampire(28)
“Yes,” she said. “I would.”
“Chelle isn’t a vampire. At least, not yet.” What would his sister think of his transition? He hadn’t had the chance to tell her before their phone call had been interrupted. “She’d appear human for all intents and purposes. She can tolerate sunlight. Silver. She’d blend right in.”
Suspicion wrinkled Naya’s forehead as she studied him. “How is it that you’re a vampire and she isn’t?”
How was it possible to be tethered to someone so different from himself? Someone with so little knowledge of what he was? Then again, Claire had been human when she’d tethered Mikhail’s soul. You couldn’t get much more different than that.
“Chelle is still a dhampir. I was only recently turned.” It was explanation enough. He would only give so much. Naya would have to quid pro quo if she wanted any more than that out of him. “She called me, said she needed my help. I left almost immediately after her call.”
“Do you remember when she called?”
Ronan racked his brain. “The tenth, maybe.”
“That was a little over two weeks ago.” Fuck it all. He’d been here for two weeks already? “I left L.A. that night and that’s the last thing I remember until I woke up on your bed.”
Naya crossed the empty dining area to the kitchen bar and leaned against it, crossing her feet in front of her, one hand resting on the pommel of her dagger. “What did she need help with?”
He wanted to invite Naya’s trust. Didn’t mean he was willing to show his hand just yet. He wasn’t ready to divulge too much about why Chelle was here, even to his mate. Just this morning Naya had knocked him the fuck out. Who knew what she’d do to him if she discovered his sister had been searching for a powerful vampire relic? “I’m not sure. Our call was disconnected before she could tell me anything. Chelle is a…” Tomb raider–slash–Indiana Jones wannabe? “… treasure seeker.”
Naya tightened her grip on the pommel. “What sort of treasures?”
He wondered if she ever posed a question with genuine curiosity in her tone. So far, everything she’d asked him had been veiled with an answer-or-I’ll-break-your-femur undertone. “The vampire kind.”
For the most part, Chelle focused her talents on reclaiming vampire relics. The esoteric knickknacks of other cultures didn’t interest her. That wasn’t to say that there weren’t other supernatural creatures out there who wouldn’t give their left nut for what she’d been after. Namely, Set’s chest.
A relic rumored to hold unimaginable power.
Power that someone as sensitive to magic as Ronan’s mate would have no trouble tracking. Part of him hoped she’d lead him straight to it if it meant that he’d find Chelle. And another part hoped like hell that the chest stayed good and hidden. Naya feared unchecked power; his own state as her prisoner was proof enough of that. The chest might as well have been Pandora’s box for all he knew. If Chelle—or anyone—managed to open it, all hell could break loose. Hell, maybe it already had.
His headstrong female might have been wary of magic in the wrong hands, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t hell-bent on tracking it down. Protecting Naya would be problematic if she decided to hunt past sunrise. Which was why Ronan wanted to get a move on. “Don’t you think we ought to—”
Icy cold crept up Ronan’s torso and spread through his limbs. Naya’s dark eyes grew wide with alarm and she pushed herself from the bar, her stance no longer relaxed but alert and defensive. She drew the dagger from behind her back and the blade glowed citrine bright.
“Whoa. Take it easy.” Ronan swayed on his feet and his vision darkened at the periphery. The cold that snaked up his arms and around his thighs chilled him further, as though someone had dipped him in a vat of dry ice. “Na-ya.” His tongue felt too thick in his mouth and the word slurred as he tried to push it past his lips. She approached him as one wary predator approaches another, the blade held high in front of her, ready to cut down.
A riot of color swam in his vision and Ronan’s gaze darted to his arms. Color leached from his pores, running in fluorescent rivulets that dripped from his fingertips. Jesus fucking Christ. Either he was trippin’ balls or the magic that Naya had insisted he’d stolen was making an unwelcome reappearance.
“You need to stay still.” Her barked order cut through him like a blade. She gave her head a rough shake, her brows knit together in pain. He took a stumbling step toward her and she jumped back. “Damn it, don’t move!” Panic laced her tone and Ronan’s own heartbeat echoed hers as the sound of it rushed in his ears. Make it stop. The cold was unbearable. Fire and ice at once. Gods, make it stop!