Otherworld Nights Read Online Free PDF Page B

later, to workingmen.
    When I’d encountered Aaron as a newly reborn vampire—a big strapping farm boy with hands as rough as his manners—I will admit that my first thought was indeed carnal. He was younger than I liked, but I’d decided I could live with that.
    So I’d trained him in the life of a vampire. In return, I’d received friendship, protection … and endless nights alone, frustrated beyond reason. It was preposterous, of course. I’d never had any trouble leading men to my bed, and there I was, reduced to chasing a virile young man who strung me along as if he were some coy maiden. I told myself it wasn’t his fault—he was English. Thankfully, when he finally capitulated, I discovered he wasn’t nearly as repressed as I’d feared.
    Over a hundred years together. It was no grand romance. The word “love” never passed between us. We were partners in every sense—best friends, hunting allies, and faithful lovers. Then came the morning I woke, looked over at him, imagined
not
seeing him there, and went cold at the thought.
    When you’ve lost everyone, you learn the danger of attachments. As a vampire, you must accept that every person you ever know will die, and you are the only constant in your life, the only person you can—and should—rely on. So I made a decision.
    I betrayed Aaron. Not with another man. Had I done that, he’d simply have flown into a rage and, once past it, demanded to know what was really bothering me. What I did instead was a deeper betrayal, one that said, more coldly than I could ever speak the words, “I don’t want you anymore.” We’d ended up on the wrong side of an angry mob looking for a vampire and I’d given them Aaron. I’d let them take him and then I’d walked away and left him.
    After over half a century apart, happenstance had brought us together again. We’d resisted the pull of that past bond, reminded ourselves of what had happened the last time, and yet, gradually, we’d drifted back into friendship. Only friendship. Sex was not allowed—Aaron’s way of keeping his distance. Given the choice between having him as a friend and not having him in my life at all, I’d gladly choose the former … though that didn’t keep me from hoping to change his mind.
    That night, I slept. It was the first time I’d done more than catnapped in over a year. While I longed to seize on this as some sign that I wasn’t dying, I knew Aaron’s assessment was far more likely—I was tired because I’d missed my annual kill.
    Was this what happened, then, when we didn’t hold up our end of the bargain? An increasing lethargy that would lead to death? I shook it off. I had no intention of exploring the phenomenon further. Come sunset, I would end this foolishness and take a life.

    As I entered my living room that morning, I heard a dull slapping from the open patio doors. Aaron was in the yard, building a new retaining wall for my garden.
    When he’d been here in the spring, he’d commented on the crumbling wall and said, “I could fix that for you.” I’d nodded and said, “Yes, I suppose you could.” Three more intervening visits. Three more hints about the wall. Yet I refused to ask for his help. I had lost that right when I betrayed him. So yesterday, he’d shown up on my doorstep, masonry tools in one hand, duffel bag in the other, and announced he was building a new wall for my rebirth day.
    Had he simply decided my rebirth day made a good excuse? Or was there more than that? I watched Aaron through the patio doors. The breeze was chilly but the sun beat down, and he had his shirt off as he worked, oblivious to all around him. This was what he did for a living—masonry, the latest in a string of “careers.” I chided him that, after two hundred years, one should have a healthy retirement savings plan. He only pointed the finger back at me, declaring that I also worked when I didn’t need to. But I was self-employed, and selling art and