He had longed for her to be able drop fang tonight... His heart sped at the thought. But, no, he couldn't make her what he was, just for the pleasure of experiencing everything with her. The passion bites he had been giving her wouldn't turn her. But what about the moment the first gray hair appeared on her head? He'd be tempted to turn her then. What if she got sick? Truth be told, he had no idea what it felt like to give someone eternal life. He couldn't fathom the exchange that would go down if he gave it to Damali... He closed his eyes. He had to banish it from his mind; it was too tempting.
If he couldn't bear the thought of her old or sick, was it any wonder that he had been mentally blocking her from finding out about what had gone down in Brazil? He had almost lost her in the vampire civil war and she was currently in no shape to deal with whatever was down there. So, until her powers were at full strength, he was keeping his ear to the ground. If activity flared up again, he'd either approach the guardians or go down there and handle it himself. But Damali was too precious to risk right now.
If he was going to have to handle some serious business in Brazil, then he could no longer avoid the other responsibilities pressing him. He had a council seat to consider, he needed to check the female vamps in his territory, he had borders to secure, and motherfuckers that needed to be organized into productive industry sectors. Sure he could cast temporary illusions to transform a room at will or could put some supernatural topspin on an engine, but he needed money to keep things running. Even vamps weren't above needing good cash flow.
He also had a reputation to establish. He couldn't hold anything if others thought he was dead, or worse... a punk. His territories would be in constant chaos and then the Vampire Council would have to step in. And that was unacceptable. So much hinged on him doing what needed to be done. And he couldn't do it, sleeping on a monk's cot.
Carlos put his head in his hands. It seemed that being dead hadn't taken away the necessity of being a good businessman. It remained in the fabric of his soul. So far, every deal he had cut with the darkness had come up golden. But every deal he made pushed him further away from the light as well. A helpless anger filled him and he looked up at the sky and yelled, "What do you want from me?"
He waited. No answer. As expected. They didn't have the answers to the tough questions - just wanted a brother to walk out on faith, no guarantees. Yeah, right. Some deal. Which made him wonder if the Light really made deals with people like him. A monster with only a few scraps of honor left to his name.
And he was a monster. Tonight had proven that. After the power rush he'd just experienced, how was he supposed to do Brazil and fight without a true feeding? If he took down one innocent, just one, then all bets were off. Even now he fought not to go into the safe house and do exactly that. Carlos scrambled farther away, found a place to sit on high rocks, and stared up at the stars.
What the Covenant wanted from him was obscene. He was what he was. His belly was full, but the need for human blood was making his hands tremble. And mercy, he'd almost lost it on his baby. If she only knew. His kind craved blood and fear, and when he'd smelled that on Damali, mixed with her heady scent... would only be a matter of time before he flat-lined her while f**king her to death. And she'd come to trust that he wouldn't hurt her.
Suddenly he felt the need to move. He jumped rock formations, enjoying the power. That was the problem. The power was getting good to him, had always been good to him. He had loved the power of having her under him, panting. Loved the power of the race, of his control, even up until the moment he had crashed his car. And that scared him. Neteru or not, Damali was flesh and bone and living and irreplaceable. That's what made humans complex - they were one of a kind and fragile.
And in Brazil the power possibilities would be extreme. Clubs with hot bodies, filled with adrenaline, drug-saturated blood, sexual arousal, all the good stuff, times thousands screaming his baby's name if she did a concert there.
Real predators, like you don't see in North America, would be luring him to the jungle to hunt in the dense heat. The night calls alone would seduce him to turn into something very scary that she might not like, but that he'd love, until he dropped her limp and sweaty body and got up off her.
Carlos closed his eyes. If he had to battle whatever was over there, he'd have to feed an army - and they weren't going to do deer. Neither was he. Right there, his number would be up. Besting some local second-level was one thing, but if there was a serious international threat out there, he'd have to feed the way a vampire was supposed to feed.
And the worst part was, Damali would see that part of him that he'd managed to keep from her. His heart squeezed in terror when he thought of the horror that would fill her eyes. She would be disgusted that she had allowed one of the monsters to touch her, lie with her, love her. He had been caught up in her arms and no matter what happened, he would cherish that time with her.
Carlos turned into vapor and began drifting back to the safe house. He and Father Patrick needed to talk. He might have to say good-bye to that old man tonight.
"Well, what a surprise to have you home so early, Carlos," Father Patrick said in a cheery tone. "Want to join us in some poker?"
Carlos shook his head. "No. I need a supply, and then I'm going back out."
The monks looked at him.
"I'm going to Brazil and I need to go subterranean to raise an army, so don't even start."
Father Patrick abandoned his cards and stood, coming to Carlos's side. "Son, it's too dangerous for you to go underground again. You made your deal. Why do you have to go back? And... an army?"
"Need to investigate a few things. Need a squad."
"Can't it wait? If you go with other vampires and not our teams..."
Carlos shook his head no.
"At least let me contact Damali's team for some stronger donations? We don't have to tell her why."
"No, forget it. It really doesn't matter anyway. Besides, I don't need to get used to the taste of her team's blood. One shot of that was bad enough - got me looking sideways at Big Mike and Shabazz, as it is."
"Hold it. A word. Me and you. In your lair, before you go?"
"Aw'ight." Carlos brushed past the cleric and headed downstairs.
He was sitting on the edge of his cot, staring at the floor, when the cleric entered the room.
"I lived like this when I was a kid," Carlos said in a quiet voice. "Raggedy, old, narrow bed, in a f**ked-up, tiny room. I swore to God that as soon as I got old enough, I'd never go out like that again." He looked up at Father Patrick and held his gaze. "I don't expect you to understand because you took a vow of poverty, but I didn't."
The priest nodded. "I think I understand better than you know."
Carlos was on his feet in seconds. "No! You don't!" He snapped his fingers and instantly converted the room. " This is what a master vampire's lair looks like."