A soft but insistent breeze tugged at Brandon’s hair, sending icy shivers along the nape of his neck. With a soundless groan, he shrugged his shoulder, his eyes opening. He found himself sitting sideways in a stiff-backed armchair, his legs draped over the arm. A blanket had drooped down in heavy folds around his waist, and Brandon tugged it back into place over his shoulder, blocking the cool draft that had chilled him.
There, he thought, hunkering down and letting his eyes droop closed again. That’s better.
Then his eyes flew wide and he jerked in surprise. Where the hell am I?
It took a long moment before the cobwebs of exhaustion cleared from his mind and he recognized—remembered—the narrow room with its sparse furnishings: part of the infirmary at the Noble family’s great house. With a sigh, he raked his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face, and grimaced at the cricks and strains in his legs, neck, and back as he swung his feet around to the floor again.
His hand dropped to his shoulder, and through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, he felt the plastic access port that had been bored into his arm bone. The site remained sore, especially to the touch; they all did, and he winced slightly, drawing the collar of his shirt back to look at it.
“We’ll need to get a doctor to remove these,” Augustus had told him earlier. Alone in his grandfather’s company, Brandon had stripped off his shirt, and Augustus’s expression had twisted with anguish and dismay to see his wounds.
“I talked to Mason Morin,” he’d said. “He said since the ports have been set in the bone, they’ll have to be handled as sterilely as possible to avoid infections.” Cupping his hand against Brandon’s cheek, he’d added softly, “He also said you’re very lucky to be alive, from the sounds of things.”
Augustus had drawn him in a gentle embrace, one Brandon had returned. I’m so sorry, Brandon, Augustus had whispered in his mind, stroking his hair.
He hadn’t meant to doze off, and wondered where the blanket had come from. He had dim recollection of a dream in which Aaron Davenant had leaned over him, tucking the blanket across his chest.
“Take care, kid,” Brandon had watched him murmur.
But had that been a dream? The blanket was sure real enough. Brandon turned to look toward the bed beside him, where Aaron had been asleep for much of the day. He wasn’t entirely surprised to find it empty now, the sheets swept aside and rumpled.
Goddamn it, Aaron, he thought. They were on the top floor of the great house; there was no way Aaron could have jumped or climbed down from so high a vantage, and yet when Brandon looked at the window, the thin curtains fluttered in the same light breeze that had roused him, and he saw the sash had been raised.
Goddamn it, Aaron, he thought again as he leaned out, planting his hands on the sill and squinting as he peered down into the darkness. Two stories down, he saw the empty balcony leading to his grandfather’s suite. Two below that, and he saw the yard.
How in the hell did he climb down from way up here? Brandon thought. He was hurt. And why did he leave?
He knew the rest of his family was none-too pleased that a Davenant had been staying among them—especially Augustus. The animosity and rivalry between the two clans ran too deep to be easily forgotten, despite the fact that Aaron had helped Brandon. While Brandon doubted Augustus or Benoît would have done anything to Aaron, he had plenty of cousins who were both brasher and bolder. They remained young and overeager enough to want to prove themselves to the more venerable males in the clan. Going after Aaron would have been just the opportunity they’d need. That had been part of the reason Brandon had chosen to stay at Aaron’s bedside in the infirmary.
Had Aaron recognized his own possible danger as well? Brandon doubted he would have considered anyone in the great house outside of Augustus or Benoît as potential threats, but he might have wanted to prevent any further trouble or friction between his family and Brandon’s.
But he didn’t have to leave, goddamn it, Brandon thought as he hurried out of the infirmary. He hadn’t seen any movement from outside in the yard, no signs of life, but still wondered if he could pick up Aaron’s trail again and follow him. I don’t care what anyone else in my family thinks. Aaron saved my life—if nothing else, I owe him that.
The hallways all appeared empty, the great house quiet and still. He raced downstairs, taking the steps two at a time, his feet flying along the risers. He hardly even looked where he was going in his rush, at least not until he met Lina as she ran around a bend and nearly knocked her ass over elbows down the rest of the flight.
“Oh—!” she yelped in surprise, her arms pinwheeling frantically as she started to lose her balance. Brandon reached out, catching her by the arm and jerking her back.
“Thanks,” she said with a shaky laugh, her hand fluttering to her heart. “Jesus Christ, you scared me!”
Sorry, he signed, pressing his fist to his heart and rubbing in circles. He hadn’t used telepathy with her since they’d first reunited in the infirmary. Although doing so had become more natural to him than using sign language, he no longer felt he had the right to assume that her mind was open to him, his to enter anytime he wished.
“What are you doing up?” she asked. “It’s so late.”
Aaron’s gone, he signed, finger-spelling the name. I think he climbed out the window and took off.
She glanced down at her sandals, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Why would he do that?”
I don’t know. Brandon shook his head. But I need to try and catch him.
“No!” She reached out, grabbing his hand as he started to move past her. “I mean…let him go. He’s dangerous, Brandon.”
Brandon shook his head again. No, he’s not. He’s my friend.
Lina crossed her arms, looking at him dubiously. “Do friends usually take off in the middle of the night without even saying goodbye?”
No, but…
“He’s a Davenant, Brandon. I know he helped you, but I bet he had his own reasons for doing it. Not because he’s a nice guy or anything. Augustus doesn’t trust him. Neither do I.” She cut her eyes away again. “And neither should you.”
Brandon stood and looked at her for a long moment. This was actually the longest he’d been alone with her, the most he’d had the chance to say to her, since she’d walked into the infirmary. He wanted to reach out, touch her face because she was so goddamn beautiful, it ached his heart, but he didn’t.
“Don’t go after Davenant,” she said. “Okay? Please, Brandon. Just let him go. Maybe it’s for the best.”
He nodded. Alright, Lina.
Her heart had been fluttering like an anxious dove from the moment they’d crashed into each other, but he sensed some relief wash over her at this. She nodded once, offering a shy, fleeting smile, then moved to walk past him up the stairs.
“You should get some rest,” she said. “I know you must be exhausted.”
Lina… He caught her by the hand. I’m sorry.
He felt her stiffen at his touch. With the exception of their reunion in the infirmary, this had been her reaction: hedging and uncertain at his embrace, turning her head to gently rebuke any attempts he made to kiss her. He couldn’t blame her, though, and didn’t.
She shook her head. “Brandon, don’t…”
I love you, he insisted, because they hadn’t talked about what had happened and they needed to. I know you don’t believe me, but I swear to Christ it’s true. I love you more than anyone or anything.
Her eyes grew glossy; her bottom lip quivered. “I…I do believe you, Brandon,” she said. “But I can’t do this. Not right now. This…just isn’t the time.”
Lina, please. Hanging his head, he closed his eyes. What happened in Florida…it was all my fault. I messed everything up and I know that. I can’t take it back, but I…I can make it right by you. Somehow, some way, I can put things right between us. I know I can. Everything that happened to me…everything the Davenants did…it disappeared the second I saw you standing in the infirmary. It’s like it didn’t even matter. Nothing in the whole world mattered except for you. I want to be with you…more than anything.
“Oh, Brandon,” Lina breathed. A single tear slipped past the edge of her lashes and rolled down her cheek. Closing her eyes, she sniffled and wiped it away. When she looked at him again, her expression was grave. “What about Pilar?”
I’m not going to let my Brethren nature come between us ever again, he said. I don’t want Pilar. I want you. I…I need you, Lina.
“But you’re in Kentucky,” Lina said. “It’s easy for you to say those things. You’re not with her right now. What happens when we go back to Bayshore and you see her again—and all of those feelings, those Brethren urges, come back? You couldn’t fight them before. They kept getting stronger, you said, the more you were near her.”
Then I won’t be near her, Brandon said. Never again. We don’t have to go back to Florida. We can go to California, back to the Morin compound. Or we can stay here at the great house. We…
His voice faded as her expression grew distraught.
“Brandon, I have a job in Bayshore,” she said. “It’s a good job, back on a police force, just like I’ve wanted. It’s important to me. My mother’s there, too—and my grandfather, and Jackie…”
Then I’ll go back with you. He cut her short. When the Davenants took me, Julianne gave me some sort of medicine—mirtazapine, I think she called it. It’s like the Wellbutrin I used to take, only stronger. It suppressed all of my Brethren abilities—my telepathy, the bloodlust, everything. I can start taking it again. Then being in Bayshore—being near Pilar—won’t matter. It won’t do anything to me.
“But you…” Lina whispered. “You couldn’t talk anymore. Not with your telepathy. Not like…”
I can talk like this, he signed. At least with you and Jackie. And I spent most of my life writing notes to everyone. I can get back in the habit—hell, I can probably find my old notebook to carry around with me again. He looked at her, pleading. Please say you’ll give me another chance.
“Oh, Brandon.” Her hand darted to her mouth and she began to cry. She stumbled into his arms, her entire body shaking. I love you. God, Brandon…so much…!
I love you, too. He stroked her hair, turning his face to kiss her ear. Please, can’t we just start all over again?
All at once, his head swam and it felt like he browned out—not quite passing out, but his body weightless, his mind submerged in hazy depths of semi-consciousness. He could see, but only hazy shadows and dim lights bobbing in and out of focus before him; he could sense telepathically, but only a tangled chorus of overlapping sounds and sensations, nothing concrete or tangible. He thought he heard Lina screaming, her voice shrill and agonized—and that was when he abruptly snapped to. To his surprise and alarm, he found himself on top of her, his fangs buried in the meat of her throat.
What the fuck—! he thought, scrambling away from her, his teeth ripping loose from her neck. Blood spurted weakly from the ragged holes he left behind, and he could taste it in his mouth, bittersweet and metallic. I…oh, Christ, I was feeding from her…!
From the looks of things, that hadn’t been all that had happened. All around them in a broad circumference, paintings had been knocked askew or off the walls altogether. The plaster had been struck hard enough in at least a half-dozen places to crack or crater, and he saw blood smeared and splattered on the carpeted stair runner, bannister, and walls. It looked like there’d been a hell of a struggle; his T-shirt had been torn and left blood-smeared and tattered. Although when he touched his nostril, his fingertips coming away spotted with blood, he could tell by the smell that the blood on his shirt wasn’t all from him.
Lina! he cried, rushing back to her side, collapsing to his knees. Oh, Jesus! Lina!
She lay sprawled between several risers, her shirt torn open, leaving her breasts exposed. Her eyes were closed, her face battered and bleeding. Her lips were swollen, split open in places, and around her throat, he could see the grim shadow of bruises from where someone had violently choked her.
Not someone, he thought in horrified dismay. Me. I did this to her!
He groped along her neck until he found her weak, thready pulse, but she didn’t respond to him, no matter how urgently he shook her or called out in her mind. She was knocked out cold.
Lina…! Brandon pulled her up into a clumsy, seated position and clutched her against his shoulder, burying his face in his hair. I’m sorry, Lina. Oh, Christ, I’m so sorry! What have I done? How…how could I have…?
Not you, boy. A sinister voice filled his mind and Brandon froze, his eyes widening in sudden, absolute shock.
Stupid boy, the voice seethed—all-too familiar, and all-too terrifying. Did you think it was over? That you could escape me so easily?
Lamar Davenant.
It’s not possible, he thought, but then brittle laughter, like the scraping of a knifepoint against steel, echoed in his head. Brandon whipped his head from side to side, looking around the stairwell. It’s not possible, he thought again. It can’t be Lamar—it can’t be! Aaron shot him in the head. He killed him!
Did he? Lamar asked, his voice falling with obscene intimacy in Brandon’s mind, like the cold caress of a corpse’s hand. Or in the end, did Aaron only set me free—free from the pathetic mortal frailties that had held me prisoner for far too long?
He chuckled again, and Brandon couldn’t shake the feeling that he was there somehow, in the great house with him, so close by, he could see Brandon. Again, he cut his gaze around him wildly; again, he saw nothing.
No. Brandon shook his head. No, you’re dead. You son of a bitch—you’re dead!
My body may be gone, but my mind—the energy that is my consciousness—has been liberated, and is more powerful than ever, Lamar said. In fact, I am able now to enjoy rebirth again and again, as many times as I wish—in as many forms as I choose.
That’s a lie! Brandon shouted. You can’t come back!
Stupid boy, Lamar purred again. I’ve already come back once…through you.
Brandon looked down in dismay at Lina, dangling limply in his embrace. He remembered how Lamar had seized control of Aaron in the warehouse beneath his mansion. While in the end, he’d given Aaron some semblance of physical control, he’d still manipulated his son’s mind. But in the beginning, he hadn’t given Aaron even this modicum of freedom.
Your body is young and strong yet, Lamar told him. Unburdened by age or disease…as exquisite as any drug. I can’t wait to enjoy another taste.
You son of a bitch, Brandon seethed. Throwing his head back, his brows furrowed deeply, he screamed inside his mind. I’ll get you for this! You hear me, Davenant? I’ll send what’s left of your goddamn soul straight to hell for making me hurt her!
In his mind, he heard the fading refrains of ghostly laughter.
You’re mine now, boy, Lamar hissed. I can take you—control you—anytime I want. And this time, there will be no escape…no one to rescue you.