I raised my eyebrows. "Is that where the legend of vampires and coffins comes from?"
A smile touched his lips. "In itself, no. The world was not always as densely populated as it is today, and protection in the form of housing was not always easy to find. Soil, on the other hand, is readily available in all lands, at all times."
"Does it have to be a particular depth?"
"No. One or two inches is sufficient. Though it is not unusual for the newly turned to panic and go as deep as they can. And, of course, the tombs and graves of the recently dead are often the easiest place to borrow."
I chuckled softly. "Hence the legend."
"Yes."
The brief spark of amusement in his eyes died a little, replaced by the thoughtfulness I'd seen earlier. But again, whatever his thoughts were, he was keeping them well and truly to himself. Which was a nice change, and yet also a little alarming. I had a feeling those thoughts were about me—us—and part of me itched to ask. But the sane part knew it was better not to. However much this vampire irritated the hell out of me, he was at least still in my life, still by my side. No matter how much I might have told him to leave if he could not accept my nature and beliefs, I didn't actually want him to go.
Because he was right. There was something good between us, something that was worth taking the time to explore. I was willing, as long as it was an open relationship. Maybe he was beginning to see the benefits of such a deal, as well.
Besides, it wasn't as if we actually knew much of each other beyond the realms of sex. It might actually turn out that we were totally incompatible outside the bedroom. Hell, I hadn't wanted Talon in my life on a regular basis, but we sure as hell had a good time sexually. Of course, he'd turned out to be a sick psycho. Maybe Quinn would, too. Who really knew?
Only time would tell and the reality was, we hadn't had a lot of that so far.
I glanced ahead and saw that we were near the clearing where Moss had done his invisible trick. I stopped in the shadows of some gum trees and waved a hand around. "It happened here, somewhere."
His gaze scanned the area, then came back to mine. "You be careful."
"You, too." I paused, suddenly feeling awkward and having no idea why. "I'll talk to you tonight."
He nodded. But as I turned to retreat, his fingers slipped down my arm and caught my wrist. "Make sure you use full shields," he said softly. "Remember what Misha said about Starr. If I can read your surface thoughts, then it is most likely Starr can. You cannot afford the slightest mistake while in his presence, or the game will be up and we'll all be in danger."
God, didn't he think I knew that already? Stating the obvious would only succeed in making me even more jittery.
He released my hand, his fingers sliding over mine almost sensually. I turned and walked away. But I could feel his gaze, a heat that was centered in the middle of my back before flooding across my skin in waves. The vampire wanted me, and his desire was every bit as powerful, every bit as alluring, as a wolf.
Which he wasn't, so I shouldn't be feeling what I was feeling. Unless I'd somehow become even more attuned to him.
But I resisted the temptation to turn around and ask him what the hell was going on—or more precisely, what he'd done. I had training and a brunch to attend, and right now, they had to take precedence over emerging metaphysical and sexual connections.
Training for Starr's arena was a whole lot easier than training with my brother. Most of the women who'd been brought in were shifters of some variety, and therefore had strength and speed. While many didn't have any actual fighting skills, it really didn't matter because it was mainly wrestling, and in mud at that.
Skill wasn't a prerequisite. Good balance and intuitive-ness was. The trainers matched us according to weight and height, which meant that at least in the initial rounds, I avoided both Berna and Nerida—who still managed to scowl at me down the length of the arena.
We practiced for two hours, and damn if it wasn't fun. In fact, if I'd been training with men rather than women, it could have been erotic. I've never mucked around in mud before, but the sensation of hands and bodies sliding across mud-lathered skin was sensual, to say the least. I made a mental note to try this with a more suitable partner, and kept on fighting and following instructions. Afterward, we were escorted to the showers. The rest of the women were then taken to breakfast, while I was herded from the pack and escorted to the private elevator.
Which was more than enough time to realize my guard definitely didn't believe in regular showers. Needing something to distract my nose from the overwhelming odor of stale, sweaty human, I lowered my shields a little and tried reading him. His thoughts were all over the place—one minute he was thinking about his night with one of the hookers, the next wondering what the powers-that-be were going to do about breakfast, because he was mighty hungry and hadn't signed on to this crummy outfit to starve. And in between, he admired my tits and wondered if it was the red hair that was turning him off.
Not one of Starr's great thinkers, obviously.
I re-shielded and glanced up at the ceiling. There were definitely monitors up there, and I had no doubt the psi-deadeners were present, too. So how come I was slipping past them ?
Granted, it wasn't as if there weren't precedents for such events—Jack had proven it was more than possible a few days ago when he'd stopped Gautier's attack on me. I wouldn't have put my developing talent in the same league as Jack's, let alone Quinn's, but maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't just the onset of menstruation affecting my telepathy, but the ARC 1-23 drug as well.
So what else was happening inside of me?
Part of me thought it might be better if I didn't know. Because in not knowing, I could still believe there was the chance of a normal life—even if that chance was disappearing faster than water down a drain.
Yet I had to acknowledge that ignorance wasn't bliss. I had to know what was going on, if only so I could plan a new future. To do that, I had to tell Jack everything. He needed to know, because I needed to learn control. I'd been at the Directorate long enough to know that anything else could be dangerous.
The elevator finally arrived and the guard shuffled me inside. I watched the numbers slide by, wondering who would meet me—Moss or Merle.
It turned out to be neither.
As the elevator bumped to a halt and the doors slid open, Starr himself was standing there.
Again the sense of something depraved, something so evil it was beyond contemplation, swamped me. My insides froze in terror, and for several seconds, even breathing had become a luxury I couldn't afford. Because to breathe, I'd have to inhale the scent of him, and even that felt like poison.
"Sir," the guard said, as he straightened slightly. "Poppy Burns, as you requested, sir."
"Thank you, Tarrent." Though Starr spoke to the guard, his gaze was on mine. In those bloodshot blue depths, I saw my death. Or at least, the specter of it if I twitched so much as a fingertip the wrong way. "Follow me, my dear."
He turned around and walked across to the other doorway, providing me with the perfect target, the perfect moment. And it was tempting, so very tempting. My fingers twitched, and the urge to grab the guard's gun and shoot the hell out of Starr, to splatter his brains across the walls and bring to an end his bloody reign, was fierce. But the mere fact that he'd offered such a target had warning bells ringing.
Only a man who felt very secure about his safety measures would do such a thing. I flexed my fingers, vaguely hoping it would ease some of the tension running through my limbs, and forced my feet forward, past the guard and into the hall.