“So these immortals that killed themselves . . . ?”
“Set themselves on fire, usually. Or convinced someone to cut off their head for them.”
“Oh,” Mary breathed, thinking the agony must have been extreme to drive those poor people to such a terrible end.
“Those who survived did so because they did not give up. The nanos eventually forced a sort of evolution on their hosts to get the blood they needed to continue their job.”
“The fangs,” she guessed solemnly.
Dante nodded. “Our people developed fangs to gather the blood we needed. But they also developed increased speed and strength to help them in the hunt, as well as better hearing, better vision and even night vision.”
“Is that why your eyes glow silver?” Mary asked curiously. “The night vision, I mean? Cats’ eyes kind of glow in light at night and they’re supposed to have good night vision.”
“I am not sure,” he admitted. “I know the silver has something to do with the nanos. All immortals have silver or gold flecks in their eyes that glow in certain circumstances.”
“What kind of circumstances?”
“When we need blood,” he answered. “Or when we feel . . . passionate.”
“Ah,” Mary muttered and lifted her mug to her lips. Finding it empty, she set it in the holder, and clasped her hands in her lap, simply waiting.
“We also suddenly had the ability to read minds and control people, which made hunting without being discovered much easier.”
“I imagine so,” she said dryly, and then frowned and asked, “But how did the nanos do that? I mean, they weren’t programmed to do that.”
“No, but their main directive was to keep their host at their peak condition,” Dante pointed out.
“Yes.”
“And they needed blood to do that.”
“But they use more blood than the human body can produce,” Mary remembered his earlier words.
“Si.” He nodded. “So, I presume the nanos just added getting blood as part of their task to complete the original task.”
“You presume?” she asked. “Don’t the scientists who developed this have some idea—?”
“The scientists who developed the nanos did not survive the fall of Atlantis,” he interrupted.
Mary raised her eyebrows. “None of them had the nanos?”
“Apparently not,” he said with a shrug.
“So, only the human guinea pigs survived Atlantis,” she said slowly. “And they have no idea about how the stuff in their bodies works?”
“We have some knowledge now,” Dante assured her. “We have scientists among our ranks who have discovered much and are always working to discover more. However, as I say, technology in the new world our people found themselves in was far behind Atlantis. And none of them were scientists. They had to wait for science to catch up a bit. Most of the discoveries about our nanos have been made in only the last century.”
“So your people wandered around for centuries with no clue about what they had in their own bodies,” Mary muttered. “Weird.”
“How much do you think most people with a pacemaker know about the mechanism inside their chest?” Dante asked with amusement. “Or the people who have been given artificial hearts until a transplant is found, how much to you think they know of the mechanics of it?”
“Probably not much,” she admitted wryly.
“Hmm.” He nodded.
They fell silent for a moment and Mary was comfortable enough with him to allow it until she noted the worry on his face. She suspected it was because of the black van that had started tailing them some miles back. It was probably the kidnappers, and she had no doubt they would probably try something. The problem was they didn’t know where or when or what it might be.
“Tell me about your childhood,” Mary said abruptly to distract them both. “What was it like growing up a vampire in 1905?”
Dante winced, and his voice was pained when he said, “We prefer the term immortal.”
“But you can die, so you aren’t immortal,” she pointed out. “You do, however, have fangs and drink blood like a vampire.”
“Si, but we were around before the English invented the vampire. Before even the Dacians and their strigoi. We are Atlanteans, and immortals,” he ended with finality.
Since he was so touchy on the subject, Mary decided to let it lie for now, and said, “So? 1905? Italy? I imagine it was beautiful? No pollution, no cars, no—”
“No,” he said dryly.
“No?” she asked with surprise.
“Mary, I was a baby in 1905. I don’t remember much,” he pointed out gently. “But I do know pollution was no better than it is now. In fact, it may have been worse.”