When she arched her eyebrows at that, Santo pressed her head back to his chest and sighed. “Sì, fine, perhaps we are,” he muttered. “But all of that is what makes life mates important. A life mate is someone an immortal can neither read nor control. They can relax with them without the constant need to shield their own thoughts or put up barriers against the other’s thoughts. And they cannot control them, so can have a healthy relationship.”
Pet took a moment to process that and then suddenly stiffened and jerked away from him again. “But you can’t read or control me!”
“Sì,” he agreed solemnly.
She stared at him for a minute and then asked, “You aren’t saying that I’m your . . .”
“Life mate, sì,” he assured her.
Pet stared at him wide-eyed, not sure what to think of that claim, and then asked slowly, needing the extra verification, “You think I am your life mate?”
“I know you are, tesoro mio.”
“But—are you sure? I mean, what if you’re wrong?”
“I am not wrong. All the symptoms are there.”
“What symptoms?” she asked at once.
“I cannot read you. I cannot control you. I am eating food again, real food, not just the steak and raw eggs I occasionally consumed like a supplement. And I have found my passion again. I cannot keep my hands off you. The depth of my desire for you is most telling. And then there is the shared pleasure and the post-coital fainting too. That only happens with life mates.”
“Post-coital . . . You mean you faint too when we have sex?” she asked with surprise.
Santo nodded.
“Well, damn skippy, you could have told me that,” she said, smacking him in the chest. “I was starting to think there was something wrong with me and I should make an appointment with my doctor.”
“There is nothing wrong. It is the shared pleasure. The mind is not made to accept so much excitement. It is like a sudden surge of power blowing a fuse. The brain has to reset.”
“So every time we do it, we’re going to faint?” Pet asked with dismay, and thought that could be a bit inconvenient, not to mention limiting. No chance for quickies if you were going to take an enforced nap every time. And no outdoor sex, sneaking into a closet at a party, no . . . damn. It was going to be straight in-your-house-every-time sex from now on.
“We will only faint every time for the next year or two,” Santo said soothingly. “After that our brains will adjust to the double pleasure and the fainting will stop.”
“Double pleasure,” she murmured thoughtfully, and then asked, “Is that what that thing was when I was doing stuff to you, but I was feeling it like it was being done to me?”
“Sì. You were experiencing my pleasure along with your own. But it keeps ramping up, my pleasure becomes your pleasure, and yours mine, and then it bounces back and forth between us, growing every time like a snowball rolling downhill, and then . . .” He shrugged.
“And then it hits a wall and explodes and blows your mind. Literally,” she added dryly, thinking of his comparing it to a blown fuse. Frowning, she asked, “Is it something to do with the nanos?”
“I would imagine so. From all accounts, it only started after they were introduced for those originally from Atlantis.”
Pet shook her head. “Why would the nanos do that? I mean, think about it, if you and I had just had sex when the intruder entered, we’d have been passed out like flakes and he could have killed us both. It’s not really a smart survival thing.”
“It is for the overall survival of immortals,” he said solemnly. “We need life mates to withstand our long lives with any hope of not losing our minds. The double pleasure makes for very good sex between life mates and ensures they have a serious reason, even a need, to work things out that otherwise might break them up. They will not find that pleasure elsewhere. So unless they wish to live a lonely, sexless life, they treat each other with respect and work on their relationship.”
“Still, it seems dangerous,” Pet murmured. “I don’t like the idea of being unconscious and vulnerable every time we do it.”
“It is fine,” Santo assured her, pressing her face to his chest again. “We just must be careful for the next year or two to only make love when somewhere safe or at home.”
“I thought I was safe in my home last night when that guy came in and attacked me,” she pointed out grimly. “And what if there is a fire?”
“Pet, no one is ever one hundred percent safe. Look at your mom and dad. They were attacked and killed at home. But,” he added, holding her head in place when she would have raised her head to look at him again, “I do have a fortified bunker under my home in Italy, with a secret entrance in the bedroom. We can sleep there for the next year or two if it makes you feel better.”
“A fortified bunker?” she asked, leaning back with disbelief.
Santo shrugged. “Everyone was building them during the Cold War. Most are gone now, but I kept mine, updated it over time, and it is well stocked and fireproof, with its own water supply.”
“Why would you keep it?” Pet asked with surprise.
“Why destroy it when another Cold War or something similar might come around?” he countered, and pointed out, “I have lived many years. Eventually, all hell will break loose, and when it does, I am prepared.”
“Wow.” She stared at him. “Do you wear aluminum foil hats too?”
“What?” he asked with confusion.
“Nothing,” Pet muttered and cuddled up against him again, but after a moment she asked, “So you really meant it when you said you want to spend your life with me?”
“Sì.”
She nodded against his chest, but then asked worriedly, “Does this mean you’ll want to turn me?”
Santo stiffened briefly, and then asked, “Would you be all right with that?”
Pet grimaced. “Well, that depends. Is it painful?”
“You will not suffer any pain,” he assured her firmly.
“Oh.” Pet sighed with relief. She was thinking it would be some terribly agonizing deal. “Well, I guess maybe I could . . . I mean, you know, if things work out and stuff.”
“Pet,” he said solemnly.
“Yes?”
“I thought you were dying when we got to your apartment last night.”
“Yes, you said that.”
“Sì,” he breathed out, and then took a big breath in and admitted, “But what I did not tell you was that in my desperation to save you, I turned you.”
Pet pulled back slowly to stare at him. “What?”
“I turned you, cara. There was so much blood when we got there. I thought I only had moments to save you, and I . . . turned you there in Parker’s room before Marguerite could tell me that the blood was not yours.”
Pet blinked. Thought. Blinked again, and then lunged out of his lap.
Santo immediately began to follow, babbling rapidly in Italian. Every other word seemed to be her name, though. She was quite sure he was apologizing or explaining or begging, she wasn’t positive which, but she didn’t stop until she’d reached the dresser and the mirror above it. Leaning forward then, Pet stared at the silver flecks floating in her irises.
“Damn,” she breathed.
“Pet?”
Stepping back, she whipped the huge T-shirt up and off and then examined herself expectantly in the mirror, only to sag with disappointment.
“What is it, tesoro mio?”
Pet sighed and gave a shrug. “I was hoping I’d have grown boobs, and maybe get some more curve on my hips or something.”
“Your breasts are perfect,” Santo growled, moving up behind her. “And I like your hips.”
“Do you?” she asked, meeting his gaze in the mirror, and watching as his hungry gaze slid over her body. The silver in his eyes was growing, she noted, and then shifted her gaze to her own eyes and saw that they were silvering too. Pet stared at them with fascination for a minute before grinning and saying, “It’s kind of like having an erection on your face, isn’t it? I mean, everyone knows what you’re thinking about when your eyes go silver.”
She saw Santo’s eyes shift to meet hers in the mirror and his expression became uncertain.
“You are not angry with me for turning you without gaining your permission first?”
“No. You thought you were saving me,” she said gently, and then grimaced and added, “Mostly what I’m feeling is horny. Is that bad?”
Judging by how quickly he was suddenly pressed up against her from behind, his arms sliding around her so that his hands could cover and fondle her breasts, Pet guessed he didn’t think so.
“Oh, God, tesoro mio, I was so worried you would be upset with me,” he muttered, pressing kisses on the top of her head as his hands caressed her. “I do not deserve such a wonderful . . .” he nuzzled her hair aside and nipped at her ear gently “. . . beautiful . . .” his teeth scraped down her neck, and then paused so his lips could gently suck the tender skin “. . . forgiving . . .” he caught her chin and raised her face to kiss her passionately, and then picked her up in his arms and carried her back to the bed, whispering, “. . . woman.”
Eighteen
Pet woke up splayed on Santo’s chest, her head tucked under his chin, her hand curled up in front of her mouth, and his hand resting next to it, flat on his chest. She studied that hand that had given her so much pleasure, and then at the rings on his fingers, and eyed them with curiosity. She’d never really looked at them before. They were all silver or white gold, she wasn’t sure, but they looked like old silver. The one on his pinky was smaller than the others. It had a ruby in the middle and writing above and below it that she thought said Bruni and Notte. The other three rings were much larger. Two had the same image on it, two people on a horse, and Bruni and Notte on them too, but the third ring had what seemed to be a family crest and some kind of Latin inscription.