Immortals After Dark 12 - Lothaire

had they gotten into this position? She had no memory past crying herself to sleep as he’d softly stroked her.
    Sobbing herself to sleep.
    Though she’d always prided herself on never crying, she’d undammed an ocean of tears.
    But how could she not? Last night, she’d gone from the most sublime pleasure to the rawest pain—both given to her by one male.
    Now he was obviously in the grip of nightmares. Was he reliving some hideous memory?
    Even after everything he’d done to hurt her—and would do in the future—she felt a pang of sympathy.
    Untangling herself from his arms, she raised herself up on her knees to peer down at him. “Lothaire?” she murmured, her throat scratchy.
    The muscles in his torso strained until they appeared knotted undersweat-slicked skin. He yelled in Russian, his fingers twisting as if he were in agony.
    What do I do? Should I touch him?
    Though he yelled out again and again, he was eerily still, as if he couldn’t move.
    “Lothaire, wake up—”
    “No!” he roared, his eyes still closed. “Nooo!” He flung out one arm, sending her flying.
    Landing with a thud some distance from the bed, she did a mental inventory of her body, surprised nothing was broken. Unsteadily, she made it to her feet.
    I can’t do anything for him. He doesn’t deserve my sympathy anyway!
    Shaking off her dizziness, she backed away toward her room, where she threw on a nightgown. On her own bed, she drew her knees to her chest, rocking herself as his yells grew louder.
    Rocking, rocking . . . She’d never heard anyone in such pain. Will I yell in pain when he casts out my soul? Will he pity me ?
    He’d told her he wouldn’t show her mercy—
    “Elizavetta?” he yelled dazedly.
    She closed her eyes as if to block out the sound. He’d called for her ? Why her name and not Saroya’s? Because he needs me. No, you ignore him, Ellie!
    “Elizavetta?”
    He sounded so . . . lost. “Dang it,” she muttered, rising to return to his room. “Wouldn’t let an animal suffer like this—”
    She froze at the sight of him. Bloody tracks ran from his closed eyes. My God, are those . . . tears?
    What kind of misery could bring this callous vampire to tears? Ellie’s own eyes welled, and she found herself climbing in bed with him once more.
    “Don’t hurt, vampire!” She brushed pale hair back from his forehead.
    What was wrong with him? What was wrong with her ? She felt the need to take away his pain, and she didn’t understand why.
    “Lizvetta?” he rasped, beginning to calm somewhat.
    She caressed his heartbreakingly beautiful face. “I’m here.” More of his tension ebbed.
    The vampire might think he could do just fine without her; she wasn’t so sure about his prospects. He could scorn her all he liked, but clearly he did need her.
    And realizing that affected her. As she continued to pet him, she again imagined what it’d be like to be loved by Lothaire.
    If he’d ever stop planning to kill her, she might be tempted to find out.
    Ellie shook her head hard. Best not be dreaming of things that will never be.
    Then she frowned down at her hand. He’d begun slowly disappearing . “Oh, no, no!” He’d said he could be killed if he traced in his sleep. “Wake up!”
    The survivor in Ellie thought, Send him off, girl. But some other part of her—one she didn’t know too well—made her grab his shoulders and shake.
    No response. “Lothaire, don’t go!” Ellie knew she should abandon him and save herself.
    She shook harder.
    Yet instead of bringing Lothaire back to her, all she’d done was ensure she went into the unknown with him. Her last thought: Dear God, what is his nightmare about . . . ?

    Stay sane, Lothaire commanded himself as earth weighed down on him. How long since his father had buried him here in his eternal pit?
    How many centuries since he’d been left to rot within a forest of bloodroot trees? His punishment for attempting to assassinate Stefanovich.
    The attempt that failed . Because I was betrayed. By the only friend he’d ever known.
    Chains bound him here in the ground. He was unable to trace from them, too weak to break the links. Unable to die from sunlight or a swift beheading.
    He could tell another root had met his skin, had begun probing. Soon it wouldburrow through him, seeking any regenerating flesh, any drop of blood from the husk of his body.
    Roots threaded all his limbs; worms forever feasted.
    He burned to yell in agony and frustration, but he