…and he hasn’t left the boy’s side, Brandon heard his uncle Benoît say, the tone of his telepathic voice lending itself to a fond sort of smile. I think he’s afraid if he does, one of us will find a way to hurt him somehow…some sort of vigilante justice, I guess.
With a soundless groan, Brandon stirred. He felt a crick in the left side of his neck tighten all the more as he shifted positions in the chair he’d fallen asleep in, and wincing, he rubbed at the sore muscles.
Benoît? he said, opening his eyes. His line of sight swam murkily for a moment as both his vision and mind cleared of sleepy cobwebs. Dimly he remembered falling asleep, or rather, telling himself he’d close his eyes just for a moment, a minute or two tops. Just enough to take the edge off.
The clock on the nearby wall read nearly two o’clock—he’d slept a hell of a lot longer than a few minutes.
Aaron…! Brandon thought, jerking upright in his seat. He turned to the bed to his immediate left, and relaxed somewhat, heaving a long sigh of relief to see that the other man remained just as he’d been when Brandon had nodded off—sound asleep himself (or passed out from a mix of blood loss and sheer exhaustion, more likely), tucked beneath crisp, white sheets, his wounded shoulder, wrist, and hand all wrapped with bandages.
The door to the small room opened and Brandon’s uncle walked in. He’d been out in the main infirmary just outside, which was why Brandon had been privy to his telepathic comments. His own telepathy had been returning more and more by the minute; in his sleep, it seemed, it had nearly restored to normal capacity.
“Well, now,” Benoît said aloud, his gentle smile widening all the more as he met Brandon’s gaze. “Look who’s awake. I have a surprise for you.”
For me? Brandon blinked, puzzled, but his eyes widened as Augustus walked through the door behind Benoît. Brandon sprang from the chair, stumbling in his clumsy excitement. Grandfather!
Augustus rushed forward to meet him, crushing him to his chest in an embrace. Thank God you’re alive, he gasped in Brandon’s mind. As they drew apart, Brandon saw his eyes glistening with sudden tears, despite the fact he was smiling. Then his bright expression faded altogether as he fully took in Brandon’s appearance, the fading bruises on his face, his sickly pallor.
I look like hell, I know, Brandon said, trying to make light of it, to lessen some of the tremendous concern and guilt he saw wash over Augustus’s face. But it’s alright now.
“He wouldn’t let me even look at him,” Benoît said. “Not until we took care of young Monsieur Davenant. It’s been ‘Aaron-this’ and ‘Aaron-that’ from the moment they showed up at the back door, a couple of half-starved, half-drowned pups.” He smiled again. “I think Brandon has a case of hero worship.”
He saved my life, Grandfather, Brandon said, because he hadn’t missed the way Augustus cut his gaze over toward Aaron’s bed as Benoît had spoken, or the way his brows had narrowed. He’s not like the other Davenants, not like Lamar. Grabbing Augustus by the sleeve to draw his attention, he pleaded, He’s my friend.
Kid, I’m not anyone’s friend, Aaron groused weakly and when Brandon turned, he saw his eyes were open a dazed half-mast. He half-smirked as he spoke, then glanced toward the door. “Well…except hers,” he said aloud. “I…I could be her friend, yeah…”
Brandon followed the direction of Aaron’s gaze and stumbled back in new surprise to see who had come to stand, hesitant and shy, in the doorway.
Lina? he whispered, because it was impossible—there was no way it could be her, no way she could be in Kentucky, in the great house. For a horrifying second, he wondered if he was dreaming again—another heartbreakingly realistic, but all-too cruelly imagined dream.
She looked at him, her eyes gleaming with tears, her smile as uncertain as his felt. Then she gasped his name and raced toward him, throwing her arms around his neck in a strangling, staggering embrace.
It’s you. Brandon closed his eyes against the sting of his own tears, his arms around her waist as he hoisted her off her feet. Oh, God, it’s really you! You’re here!
He set her down, seizing her face between his hands and kissing her fiercely. You’re here, he said in sign language as they drew apart, standing nose to nose together. She nodded, laughing and crying all at the same time, stroking his hair, touching his face, all as if to reassure herself that he was real. What are you doing here? he exclaimed, his fingers flying between them. How…?
“Augustus let me hitch a ride,” she said. “We flew up from Bayshore as soon as your uncle called with the news.”
Bayshore? Bewildered, Brandon turned to Augustus.
“He came looking for you,” Lina said, turning Brandon’s head so he could read her lips. “We’ve all been looking for you—me, Augustus, Jackie, Valien.” With another gasp, she hugged him again, burying her face against his neck. “We’ve all been so worried!”
As she looked past his shoulder, she saw Aaron and her body stiffened. She stepped back, her smile faltering. It’s alright, he signed. This is Aaron. He saved my life.
Aaron started to lift his hand in a half-assed wave, then grimaced and lowered it back to the bed again. “Why…the fuck am I wrapped up like…I’m in a Boris Karlov movie?”
You’re hurt, Brandon said.
You’re both hurt, Benoît said. To Augustus and Lina, he added aloud, “I don’t know what they were doing to him, but Brandon’s got bruises and burn marks all over him. He also has some kind of IV ports, it looks like—maybe a dozen or so. He said they’re stuck down in the bones or something. I don’t even want to try to take them out. Julianne used to take care of all the medical emergencies around here…”
His expression shifted, growing sheepish and somewhat distraught.
“What is it?” Augustus asked.
Benoît shook his head, but Brandon answered for him. Julianne helped them do this to me, he said, and Augustus wheeled around to face him, his eyes flown wide with stunned disbelief. She’s been helping Lamar all along.
“Quoi?” Augustus jerked as if he’d been slapped in the face. What?
They were going to harvest my blood, Brandon told him grimly. Sell it like a drug. Just like they’ve been doing with Aaron’s.
“Because of the first blood,” Lina said softly, and Brandon blinked at her in surprise.
Yeah. He nodded. How do you know about that?
“It’s…a long story,” Lina said, cutting a glance at Augustus.
Julianne and Lamar did horrible things to Aaron, Brandon said. Turning to Augustus, he caught his sleeve again. Look at his back—his scars. We can’t send him back there. Even with Lamar dead, they could still—
“Lamar is dead?” Augustus arched his eyebrow, startled anew.
Brandon nodded. Aaron killed him. He shot him in the head.
Lina blinked at Aaron. “You killed your own father?”
Aaron tried to sit up, winced again, and flopped back onto his pillow. “It’s…kind of what I do, sweetheart.”
She bristled. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”
Aaron nodded once, his eyes closed, his good hand flapping in a feeble wave. “You…got it, babe,” he murmured.