Page 37 of Taming His Vampire Mate

“Whoever was attacked here was surprised,” he said finally. “No signs of struggle. Nothing out of place. They didn’t fight back.”

“The victim knew their attacker, then?”

His troubled gaze met mine. “Yes.”

“There’s no body. And the blood wasn’t disturbed.”

“I’m now even more certain this was a vampire. Likely one who knew the victim. They put their prey at ease long enough to strike without resistance.”

He said it dully, like reading from a report. But his eyes still held that troubled look. And I knew, through the growing mate bond, he felt both revulsion and fury.

“You’re upset,” I said.

He pursed his lips. “I’ve seen my share of death, Jeremy.”

I didn’t point out there was no corpse here—just as there hadn’t been anywhere else.

Instead, I asked, “Why kill someone they knew?”

“Do they need a reason?” His voice was light, but baiting. “I thought all vampires were monsters?”

He wanted a fight, I realized. He wanted an outlet for the emotions clawing at him. It was surprisingly… human.

I held his gaze. “We both know I don’t think that anymore.”

He scowled, probably annoyed I hadn’t risen to his bait. “Well, you’re half-wrong. Some vampires are killers. It’s not all of us, not even most of us. But the unlucky ones—those without any guidance in the beginning—those are the ones who become monsters.”

“As in…?”

“They lose their conscience. Their empathy. Their ability to love anyone or anything but themselves.”

When I just stared at him, trying to reconcile that with the very clear contradiction standing beside me, he sighed and muttered under his breath, “I’m going to need to print a pamphlet or something.” Then, at normal volume: “The first few months after a vampire transitions are a delicate balancing act. Humanity and the newer vampiric instincts fight to assert dominance within the fledgling’s psyche. Humanity almost always wins out in the end, so long as the vampire doesn’tmurder anyone—even by accident.” He paused. “But the hunger in the very beginning, mixed with your confusion about what has happened to you, is sometimes enough to drive you to madness. You would do anything to end it.”

The grief I sensed from him was strange—incongruous with the cold tone of his words. Almost as if he’d lived through this himself.

“Once you started, it would be hard to stop, then.”

Thierry pursed his lips, studying me intently. Judging by the look on his face, he was hoping I’d say something to piss him off.

When I didn’t, resignation settled over him. “When vampires in Seattle are made—which requires informed and enthusiastic consent from both parties, as well as an interview with the king or one of his representatives—they are removed from human society for three months. They’re monitored constantly by their maker. It’s the only way to ensure they remain themselves.”

“And without that, vampires become monsters?” I said, piecing together a disturbing picture. “Without supervision and guidance, they become creatures who would, what? Kill the people they cared about in life?”

Thierry gave me a sharp nod, his eyes glittering as though gauging my reaction. “Yes. For starters.”

“How do you get them back, then? Once that happens? Do you… what? Send them to vampire therapy?”

Thierry’s eyes widened at that.

“There is no getting them back,” he said slowly, shaking his head. Then he hesitated, clearly debating with himself. At last, he added, “It’s only been done once before, that I’m aware of.” A smile slid onto his lips, though nothing about this was even remotely funny. “And even then, only under very special circumstances.”

He looked like he might’ve said more, but his lips snapped shut and he scowled, as though already regretting what he’d told me.

I’d heard enough. Revulsion flooded me, and my gaze dropped to the bloodstain on the floor. I saw it in a new light. It wasn’t just the fact that someone had lost their life here. They’d probably lost their soul, too.

“You’re saying… whoever did this was probably an innocent person who got turned against their will. They never stood a chance. This was done to them. And now they’re just… gone? Forever? Just like that?”

His desire to leave the gas station manager’s office suddenly made more sense. More evidence of his humanity. Even after eight centuries, this still affected him. Though I was equally sure he’d never want me to know it.