Page 48 of The Vampire's Guide to Wooing a Curator
She turned her head away from him. “I’m sorry, Jonathan. I’ve been through it twice already. There is nothing in this book that will help you.”
Before she’d finished speaking, he was already shaking his head. “That can’t be.” He picked up the mess of her notes and tapped them into an even stack. “There must be something.”
“Jonathan…”
“No!” Darkness crept into the edge of his vision. He clutched the stack of paper to his chest. “Thank you for translating. I’ll—I’ll check these myself.” Then, before she could say anything else, he turned around, ran back to his bedroom, slammed the stack of paper onto his desk, and read until he reached a promising entry.
I have seen countless men and women taken by this illness. It is a fearsome thing, striking vampires approximately fifty years after their creation, and growing worse with each passing year. Ava is the beating heart of my world, and the other half of my soul that I did not know was missing until we met.
Jonathan scowled and skimmed through several paragraphs of the author elaborating on how much they adored their human companion. He already knew that Felicity’s blood would heal him. That was not an acceptable solution. She was young and healthy, but no human could survive the amount of blood he required to stave off the symptoms, nor would he ever ask her to make such a sacrifice.
A miracle happened. I have no other words to describe it. I was holding Anna in my arms, and it was like my mind expanded, encompassing both of us. She was there; our souls entwined. I know now that this is the bond that my maker spoke about.
“No,” Jonathan whispered. Bonding with a human couldn’t be the only way to rid himself of the affliction. There had to be something else. He refused to let mating change him as it had Cordon and Marcus, nor would he allow anyone to supplant Marguerite in his heart.
His fingers began to prickle as he continued reading.
Identification of a fated mate.
After extensive consultation with other nests, I have compiled a set of signs to be used by a vampire searching for their mate.
A list followed this paragraph. Jonathan was about to throw the whole damn set of papers into the fire when a line caught his attention.
An increase in libido and appetite around the compatible human, combined with a decrease in interest in consuming the blood of anyone else.
That was exactly what he’d experienced after meeting Felicity. Even now, thinking about biting another human or taking one to his bed made him queasy. Felicity was the only one he wanted. He reluctantly sat down.
A general improvement after consuming the blood of the target human, followed by a significant worsening of symptoms.
He swallowed thickly. Two confirmations in a row. Cordon and Marcus had described something similar, but Jonathan had not wanted to listen to his siblings. It was much harder to dismiss the writing of a vampire who had lived hundreds of years ago.
The mental bond that forms between the human and vampire pair is the final definitive proof. Unfortunately, the exact trigger that results in the formation of this bond is unknown. Several subjects have reported the emotional connection between themselves and their mates as acritical factor, but there is no scientific basis on which to test this theory. Once the bond has formed, symptoms decrease and eventually disappear. Every mated subject who showed symptoms prior to forming the bond has not had a recurrence. This author is forced to admit there is some basis for confirmation of the hypothesis that mate atrophy can be cured by the identification of a compatible human donor, and the formation of a mating bond.
However, I have recently discovered a written record of a subject that makes me question my findings: a French vampire who lived more than three centuries after the tragic death of her mate. If the record is genuine, it raises a terrible question: what manner of wretched creature would result from such a lengthy period of suffering?
Jonathan rose from his desk, approached the fireplace on trembling legs, then slammed his fist on the mantel. So much work trying to get the codex, only for it to confirm what his nest siblings had been telling him all along. He didn’t want to believe it, but it was hard to deny that his relationship with Felicity matched the book’s description perfectly. There was only one plausible answer.
Felicity was his fated mate.
Chapter Twenty-One
Less than fiveminutes after Jonathan’s departure, Charles came running down the alley, his cloak flying behind him, revealing his prized green tweed Norfolk jacket. An odd choice for a hunt. Felicity glanced at the leader of the Sorrow hunters and took in the deep lines of worry on his face and the lack of a felt hat atop his head or tucked beneath his arm. The old man never left the house unprepared.
Something was amiss.
Charles reached them and smoothed damp locks of blond hair away from his face. “The enemy was too fast, sir. We lost him.”
Great-Uncle Ezra scowled. “I am surrounded by incompetence.”
Felicity felt a strange desire to laugh. In less than a week, she’d gone from wanting to kill any vampire she met to being flooded with relief that one had survived a direct assault from her cousins.
“His haven must be nearby,” Great-Uncle Ezra said. “Find it! Knock on every door if you must.”
Charles’s cheeks reddened. “Sir, it is past midnight—”
Great-Uncle Ezra grabbed a handful of Charles’s jacket near his throat. “What did you say?”
Charles shook his head back and forth. “Nothing.”
