Текст книги "Chosen"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

CHAPTER 42

David is still asleep. It’s been almost twelve hours and I’m beginning to get worried. I peek in at him, but his breathing is deep and regular and he doesn’t seem to be in any distress. I close the bedroom door and rejoin Frey.

Frey and I have made ourselves at home in the condo. David is as much a carnivore as Frey so food isn’t an issue. We alternate lessons from the book with bouts in the kitchen. I’d forgotten how good bacon smells when it’s cooking or the way a rare steak oozes when it’s cut into. Which is what Frey is doing now. I take a seat on a barstool and watch.

Frey watches me watching him.

“Want a bite?”

I have another flashback. Retching into the sink after a mouthful of lasagna. “How do you feel about projectile vomiting?”

“Nice image.”

I rest my elbows on the counter, lean forward. “How long do you think David will be out?”

“As long as it takes. No way to judge since we don’t know what she gave him.”

Frey is sopping up meat juices with a piece of bread.

“Are you going to lick the plate next?”

“How do you clean up after yourself?”

He’s right. Vampires lick puncture wounds to heal them. “We have a lot in common.”

When Frey finishes up, however, he doesn’t lick his plate. Rather he takes it to the kitchen sink, rinses it, sticks it into the dishwasher. Very civilized. More civilized than the average vampire, though most hosts would probably object to being stuffed into a dishwasher.

He’s bending now to look through the glass door of an under-the-counter wine cooler. “How about a glass of wine? David has some nice reds here.”

I nod and he chooses one, a bottle with a black label and a gold crown. He uncorks it, swirls a little into a wide-mouthed wineglass and hands it to me.

“No. You taste. You have a much more sophisticated palate than I do. It’s all I can do to distinguish type O from type A.”

He laughs, completes the ritual, proclaims it drinkable and pours out two glasses.

We drink in silence for a few minutes. I sense that Frey has something he wants to say. He keeps looking at me but when my eyes meet his, he looks away. I let it go on through the first glass of wine but bring it to an end after we’ve started on the second.

“Spill it. And I don’t mean the wine.”

“Ha. Ha. Very clever.”

I lay my hand over his. “Come on. You have something on your mind. God knows I unload on you all the time.”

“This isn’t about me.” He comes from around the back of the counter to stand next to me. “I know you must be concerned about what’s going to happen tomorrow. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Isn’t that all we’ve done since I got back?”

He swirls the wine in his glass. He doesn’t answer; he doesn’t have to. We both know the ceremony is not what he’s referring to.

I take a good, long drink, almost drain my glass, before reaching for the bottle for a refill. I have to wait for the liquor to spread its warmth before answering. I want to be honest this time. No more bullshit. No more posturing.

I look up into Frey’s wonderful, thoughtful, concerned face and unexpectedly feel the sting of tears.

Stupid. Not me.

I jump up, try to turn away.

He grabs my arm and doesn’t let me.

I fall against his chest, heart pounding, to feel his own heart racing, too.

His arms close around me. “Tell me.”

I don’t know where to begin. Don’t know why after all that’s happened, I’m more afraid at this moment then I’ve ever been. I’ve lost too much. I can’t lose any more. Emotions swamp my senses like a tidal wave.

“Tell me.” Frey says it again.

I squeeze my eyes shut for courage. Let my arms encircle his waist, hold on so he can’t see the hopelessness on my face.

“I’m afraid.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve spent a year denying the possibility that I have some kind of mystical destiny. Yet here I am. Hours away from a supernatural showdown. What if I’m not who everyone thinks I am? I’m going to be killed for something I didn’t ask for. Something I don’t want. It’s not fair. I try every day to exist as a human. If I die no one will remember that I was here. My parents won’t even be able to give me a funeral. David will think I’ve deserted him again. I will have ceased to exist. No one will know.”

Frey’s words reach out to me, soft as a baby’s breath. “You assume too much. You assume you are going to lose. I know you, Anna. Anyone who challenges you is a fool. You don’t give in and you don’t give up. It’s what I love about you.”

He raises a hand to stroke my hair. “I believe in destiny. Yours. Even if you do not. And I believe you will win and that you will become a force for good in the world. You have it in you, Anna.”

His voice has taken on a gruffness that reflects more than concern. It’s startling. Confusing. I don’t dare move, don’t dare raise my head to see if I’m misinterpreting a friend’s attempt to comfort for something else.

His arms are still tight around me.

If I did raise my head, what would happen?

The voice of reason answers.

This is Frey. Layla’sFrey.

Nothing will happen.

I draw in a breath and push against his arms. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

He doesn’t let go right away. He doesn’t let go until the rapid pounding of his heart slows. The rhythm of his blood—and mine—tempers and cools. For a moment, I’m able to suppress the fear.

The moment passes. He steps back. “Shall we get back to it?”

The book. The damned book.

“May as well.”

* * *

Frey reverts quickly to business as usual. We’ve gotten through the howand whyof the ceremony.

Viewed from the perspective of the twenty-first century much of the book is difficult, if not impossible, to understand. Some of the book contains tidbits of history not relevant but interesting. Animal sacrifice to the gods was actually prohibited before the draining of a human host. Animals were a valuable commodity. Humans were fodder.

Frey is reading a passage he’s translated. The pages in his hand are clean, free of beer stains. He must have printed out a new copy when he went home to change.

I rest my chin on a cupped palm. “How did you translate this, Frey? Did you find a vampire Rosetta stone?”

He taps a finger against his temple. “All here. Part of the Keeper tradition. The ability to see meaning behind words, no matter what language they’re written in.”

“So, it’s not like the other books in your library?”

“No. This is not a book I’d loan out. This book is irreplaceable. The others belong as much to the supernatural community as they do to me. Any supernatural can read a book in my library. The secrets of this book are revealed only to a Keeper.”

It’s a new side of Frey I never knew before. His being a Keeper. Along with having a son. Things I hope I’m alive to pursue when this is over.

I push gloomy thoughts of the alternative out of my head to listen. Frey has moved along to who is likely to be in attendance.

“We can assume there will be a representative from each of the thirteen tribes and more than likely they will each bring an ambassador or two. Judith Williams and her entourage.”

A thought occurs to me that I can’t believe I hadn’t entertained before. “Is Judith the North American representative?”

Frey laughs. “Hardly. She obviously likes to think she has an important role to play because of her husband’s involvement. She’s no more than an invited guest.”

And more than likely sponsor of the challenger. Frey doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. We both suspect as unlikely as it might be, if there is a challenge, she’ll be behind it.

“Then who will be representing the North American vampires?”

It sounds more like a summit meeting of world leaders than convocation of vampire bigwigs. If I weren’t so personally involved, I’d find the whole idea absurd.

Frey consults his notes. “Joshua Turnbull from Denver.” The name snaps me to attention. “Are you sure?”

Frey looks again. “Yep. Why?”

“Because he’s the vamp who helped me when I was looking for Sophie Deveraux.”

It’s Frey’s turn to look surprised. Sophie Deveraux was the witch who helped save his life when he was under the spell of the black witch Belinda Burke—her sister.

I nod. “And he was a good friend of Avery and of Warren Williams. Which, it’s safe to assume, means he’s no friend of mine. While we parted on amicable terms, Turnbull was happy to see me go.”

I pause, remembering. “He never mentioned who he was. In fact, he made it a point to talk about the importance of vampires keeping a low profile in their communities.”

Frey shrugs. “And I’m sure he does. No one in the supernatural community, especially those in power, would want to draw attention to himself.”

“But don’t they want some kind of tribute? What’s the point of being king if your subjects don’t know it?”

He laughs at the analogy. “Vampires, especially old ones, don’t need tribute. Chances are, he knew who you were, though. Sensed it just like Williams and Avery. Don’t forget, when this is over, he’ll be answering to you.”

He sounds so confident. I’m not so sure. I’ve assumed Judith Williams will be the one arranging the challenge. I know now that there’s at least one other vampire who lost a friend by my hand. Joshua Turnbull.

“Okay, assuming I survive tomorrow night’s festivities, what happens then?”

“There’ll be an induction ceremony. Then anyone who has a grievance or a petition will present it. You’ll listen to their arguments. You’ll make a judgment. Then it will be over and everyone will go home.”

It sounds too easy. Even the way Frey isn’tlooking at me as he recites the innocuous schedule of events makes the hair rustle on the back of my neck.

“After I make the choice, right?”

“You were paying attention in Palm Springs.”

I press fingers against my eyes. “And the choice I make is the one the vampire community must live with for the next two hundred years.”

“Not just the vampire community,” Frey says. “The mortal community ascended to its place in society because the last Chosen One relegated vampires to a position of subservience. If you change that, the positions reverse.”

He pauses. “Vampires rise to rule the world.”

A moment passes while we absorb the implication. It’s not as disturbing to me as it should be because I know there’s no fucking way I’dever make a decision like that. Frey knows it, too. But we both also know if there’s a challenge, it might not be up to me.

After another minute, Frey rises, stretches, reaches for a small leather suitcase at the end of the couch.

“I’m going to take a shower. When I get out, maybe you should go to the cottage for a change of clothes. I’ll stay here with David.”

Just what does one wear to a coronation? Especially when the opening act is a fight to the death.

I watch Frey walk back toward the bathroom, wondering again what would have happened a few minutes ago if I’d let him kiss me.

He would have kissed me. I know it, Layla or no. I’ve never listened to a voice of reason. Why did I this time?

The water in the shower comes on with a rush. I picture Frey naked and wet. I could test my theory. Join him right now.

So what’s stopping me?

Sex is sex.

We’ve done it before.

I’ve done it too many times to count.

Why would this be different? It’s scratching an itch. A biological urge.

It means nothing.

Lance proved that.

Still, I can’t rouse myself from the couch, can’t take that first step.

I need Frey in my life. I don’t want to give him a reason to feel guilty when he goes back to his real life. He will have a real life to go back to even if I may not. And Layla is a part of it.

My thinking is remarkably mature. Am I actually letting my head and not hormones dictate my actions?

Scary.

I’m staring at the doorway through which Frey disappeared moments before. I’m so focused, I don’t realize until he opens his mouth that David has come into the living room.

“What are you doing here?” David asks. “And who’s in my shower?”

CHAPTER 43

David is bare-chested, but he’s pulled on a pair of sweatpants and has flip-flops on his feet. His eyes are clear, his expression puzzled but not vacuous.

“What’s going on?” he asks again.

“How do you feel?”

He rubs fingers against his forehead and shifts. “I’m sore. In strange places. Was I in an accident?”

“What do you remember?”

He narrows his eyes, expression morphing to irritation. “Are you going to answer every question with a question?”

“Are you?”

He turns his back on me with a grunt and heads for the kitchen. I jump up from the couch and follow him.

He has his head buried in the refrigerator. “I’m starved. What happened to the steaks I had in here?” He pulls out a bottle of water and turns around. The empty bottle of wine on the counter grabs his attention. “Hey. That’s a bottle of Cavallina.” He eyes me. “Anna, did we . . . ?”

Just then Frey pads out on bare feet. He has one towel wrapped around his waist and is rubbing his hair with the other. He stops when he sees David and me.

David stares. “Do I know you?”

Frey addresses himself to me. “I was coming out to tell you you could leave now. Looks like I’m the one who’ll be leaving.”

He backtracks into the bathroom.

David’s irritation is blossoming. He rounds on me. “Do I know him? I don’t think I do. So what’s he doing taking a shower in my bathroom? Anna, what the hell is going on?”

I pat his arm. “Humor me and I’ll tell you. But first, what’s the last thing you remember?”

He scrunches his face, looking again like the kid with the computer games and the two buxom playmates. “Thursday. I think. Thursday night. I was with Miranda and I got a call that you were in an accident.” He narrows his eyes. “You don’t look like you were in an accident.”

I wave a hand at him to go on. “Anything else?”

“I caught a shuttle back, went to the cottage . . .” He stops. “That’s it.” He looks disappointed. “That’s the last thing I remember. Except—”

I cringe inwardly.

“I had some really crazy dreams. I was having sex. There were a couple of girls. And an older woman.” He closes his eyes as if trying to remember. “I think she told me something about you.”

Can’t wait to tell Judith about the “older woman” remark, but I temper my enthusiasm and say, “Sex with a couple of girls and an older woman. Sounds like getting a bump on the head worked out pretty well for you.”

He rubs his forehead again. “Can’t remember anything else. It’s gone.”

I steer him back to the living room. “Sit down and I’ll fill you in.” Sort of.

He sits, noticing newspapers splayed over the coffee table. “What day is this?”

“Monday.”

“Monday? I’ve been out three days?”

In a manner of speaking. “You have a concussion. Mild. Nothing to worry about.” Unless those blondes aren’t as squeaky clean as they looked. “My friend and I have been taking care of you.”

“How did I get a concussion?”

“It’s the damndest thing. You fell. At the airport. At the hospital they found my contact number in your wallet and called. My friend and I have been taking care of you since you were released.”

“But what about the call I got? Someone said you’dbeen in an accident.”

“A mistake. It was a woman named Hannah Strong, not Anna. Weird, huh?”

“My god. Miranda. She must be frantic. I told her I’d call her when I got back.”

“Not to worry. I took care of it. She wanted to cut her business trip short, but I assured her there was no need. She’ll be back in town on Friday.”

Still, he lunges to his feet, heads for the phone.

I intercept him at the kitchen door. “You need to rest a couple more days, David. Miranda understands. Concussions are nothing to fool around with.”

“I feel fine now. Just need some food.”

But he’s not. He’s swaying, and his face has gone pale. Evidently the drug is not completely out of his system. A bit of well-timed luck.

“No. You’re not all right. Get back to bed and I’ll fix you a plate of scrambled eggs.”

“Will you call Miranda for me?”

“Of course.”

Frey emerges dressed now. He raises an eyebrow as I shuffle David back to the bedroom. “How about you fix David a plate of eggs?”

He heads into the kitchen, and I tuck David in once more.

“You just stay here another day and you’ll be fine.”

David takes my hand. “You are a good friend, Anna. I don’t tell you that enough.”

I have the grace to blush.

Too bad there isn’t an Olympic event for lying.

* * *

Frey takes kitchen duty while I make a run to the cottage. Shower and change into yet another pair of jeans and a cotton sweater. It may not be proper coronation attire, but I need clothes I can fight in.

When I get back to the condo, Frey is straightening the kitchen.

“Is David asleep?”

“Out like a baby. Again.”

He motions to the couch. “Why don’t you stretch out? You haven’t slept in two days.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

He gives the counter a final swipe with a towel and comes around to join me. He takes my hand and leads me over to the couch. “Try.”

I sink down, let him lift my feet and slip off my shoes. He sits on the edge of the couch beside me.

“When did you feed last?”

He asks it matter-of-factly, like asking if I take cream with my coffee. I have to think a minute before it comes rushing back. Underwood. In France. I still have his blood in my system. I haven’t had a chance to purge it.

I don’t want Frey to see the excitement that floods my body at the thought that he might be offering himself. Offering his good, clean blood. I can’t ask him. I won’t. I turn my face away.

He lies down beside me, smoothes a tangle of hair away from my face.

“It’s all right. Take what you need.”

He’s opened the collar of his shirt, fits himself next to me so that his neck is exposed and close. So close. I don’t want to do this, but my body is reacting as if separate from my head and heart. It is thrumming with need, burning with the hunger. Frey’s blood calls to me and my body answers because it has no choice.

I nuzzle his neck, pull him against me. He yields with a sigh. He smells of soap and shaving cream, clean, good. Just under the surface, the panther sleeps, wild, strong, contained. We lay cupped together, one of my hands around his waist, one of my legs entangled with his. He is quiet except for the beating of his heart, still except for the rushing of his blood.

He lifts his chin, allowing better access. He wants me to do this. I need to do this. When I break through, when the heady rush of his blood fills my mouth, I experience something I haven’t for a long time.

Peace.

We lay together when it’s done. Frey is quiet beside me. I stroke his arm, his hair. I can’t remember the last time I fed without having sex. Ironically, I also can’t remember feeling as calm and tranquil as I do at this very moment, even despite the fact that tonight may be the end of my life as I know it.

Does Frey feel this sense of peace, too?

It seems selfish to have taken and given nothing in return. I let my hand move along his arm, down his abdomen. “Do you want me to . . . ?”

He stops my hand, raises it to his lips. “Yes. No. Later, maybe. All I want you to do now is sleep.”

I’m not the only one wrestling with head-over-hormone issues. For some reason, I find it comforting. Having sex isn’t the best response to confusion.

Frey changes positions on the couch so we are facing each other. He is now holding me. His arms cradle my head against his chest. I close my eyes and drift away, soothed by the strong, steady beat of his heart.

CHAPTER 44

Frey’s body jerks beside me and I’m instantly awake.

David is standing over us. “Hey. It’s ten o’clock. Why don’t you two get a room?”

Frey pulls his arm out from under my head, and we stumble to our feet.

David has gotten dressed. He has a jacket over his arm and keys in his hand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask. “You can’t drive in your condition.”

He frowns. “I feel fine. I’m going out for a drink. And I’m walking. Stop acting like my mother.”

I look at Frey. If David talks with Tracey or Miranda, our story is blown. After tonight it may not matter, but I can only deal with one crisis at a time. Frey studies me, reads my expression like he used to read my thoughts. He straightens his shirt, draws his fingers through his hair, turns to David. “Would you like some company?”

I expect it; still his words produce a flare of panic. I wanted Frey with me. But he’s not part of the vampire community. His presence would not be tolerated at best, met with violence at worst.

Once again, Frey is there to help me. He only needs to keep David occupied another few hours. After that, I’ll deal with the fallout. If I’m still around.

David doesn’t look thrilled with the idea. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Actually, I thought maybe you could tell me a little about Broncos’ number four and that last trip to the Super Bowl.”

David’s brows lift. “You were a fan?”

“Never missed a game. Started following you when you played for Notre Dame.”

Frey is not only resourceful, but smart. He couldn’t have played David better. Mentioning his alma mater melts David’s resistance like butter on a hot griddle.

“There’s a great little sports bar about a block from here. Even has an old jersey of mine on the wall. Owner played for the Broncos the same time I did. I’ll give him a call and have him come down to meet us.”

He pulls his cell phone from a pocket and moves a few feet away to make the call. Gives Frey a chance to bend his face close to my ear.

“You’ll be all right. Just remember what we talked about. You are the Chosen One. You are strong and fast. You have a good mind and a good heart. I’ll be waiting for you at the cottage.”

I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want either of us to leave the safe cocoon this place has become. I want to hold on to him with every ounce of strength. I want to stay in his arms until midnight is past. I want time to explore the possibilities.

My eyes must betray how desperately I want him to stay. His arms encircle me. He presses his body against mine. “Show them who you are. They’ll follow you once they know. We’ll have time.”

David’s voice breaks the spell. “What do you think Lance would say if he walked in right now?”

Frey and I step apart. If Lance walked in right now, he’d be dead before he could say anything. “It’s not what you think.”

David claps Frey on the back. “Frankly, I’m glad she’s seeing someone else. I never liked that scrawny model.” He turns to me. “Ready to go?”

“You two go. I’ve been here for three days. I think I’m ready to sleep in my own bed.”

David looks surprised but only for a moment. He’s already ushering his new best friend out, chatting like they’ve known each other forever.

He does remember to pause and throw a “Lock up when you leave, okay?” back over his shoulder.

If I didn’t have to preserve my energy for what’s coming, the brush-off might be insulting.

* * *

This time when i pull into Avery’s driveway, the gate is open. The guard who steps out to greet me is vampire. He doesn’t ask my name, bows his head slightly and says, “Ms. Strong. They are waiting for you in the library.”

Once again, the house is staged for a party. Every window blazes light. More limos than before line the turnaround. This time, a uniformed driver stands beside each car. When they see the Jag, they come to attention. Waiting for the guest of honor, no doubt. One of them separates from the pack, approaches the car, opens my door and extends a hand. He, too, is vampire.

I let him park the Jag and head for the house. Another vampire opens the door before I can ring or knock. Like the host who admitted Frey and me last night, he is in a tuxedo. Unlike the host, he is smiling and sycophantic in the way he bows and ushers me inside.

It’s an effort to keep fear out of my thoughts. When I open my mind, I hear the murmur of a dozen voices rustling like leaves in a gale. Some speak in English, others in languages I don’t recognize. I understand, though. It’s a part of a vampire’s genetic makeup, the ability to communicate across language barriers.

Like Frey and his book.

I wish he were here.

The conversation is banal. Talk of the trip over or musings about how pricey real estate is in Southern California. I could be eavesdropping on a group of CEOs called to headquarters for a board meeting.

The library is off to the left of the living room. There are people in the living room, too. Guests of those who await me now. They see me pass and grow quiet.

It is with some trepidation that I approach the closed doors. This was Avery’s sanctuary and the first place I fed as a vampire. The voices I hear come from this room.

The door opens before I put a hand to it. It is Judith Williams. She is dressed in a long robe of black silk. Her hair is pulled back from her face. She does not look as smug today or as confident. Perhaps she has been reprimanded for what happened after the party the other evening.

She motions with a sweeping hand. “They are ready.”

“They,” not “we.” I smile as she passes by.

I’m not sure what to expect. A few days ago, my thoughts had been on David and getting him safely away. I hardly noticed the vampires in attendance. What I do remember was a fleeting glance at vampires in costumes of varied colors and styles. A colorful blanketed figure that reminded me of an African tribal dancer, a vampire in an Arabian burnoose, a high-necked coat of white linen on a vampire of Chinese descent.

Here, the dress reflects the tenor of their conversation—the heads of the thirteen tribes have donned business attire. Well-tailored suits representing the very best of the world’s couturiers. I am suddenly self-conscious in my jeans. I chose what I am wearing because if I must fight, I need to be wearing what I am most comfortable in. I had not meant to trivialize the situation. The eyes that are watching seem to acknowledge my intention. There is no judgment in the way they look at me.

The thirteen stood when I came in. Now they take chairs around the big desk that was once Avery’s. We are alone. Judith Williams has not returned. It makes me a little less anxious to know that she has not been granted equal status with the others.

There is one empty chair. The one behind Avery’s desk. His chair. One of the tribal heads stands again and motions that I should take it.

When I am seated, the same vampire begins the introductions. He is Amardad from Persia, the ancient name for Iran. Then he presents each of the others in turn. They stand, bow slightly, touch their hands to their chest in greeting much as Culebra did a few days before. I listen and watch, opening my thoughts only in acknowledgment. These are the very oldest of the vampires from around the world. They have exotic names like Alexi and Cheng-Li and Dhakwan, Dato and Naruaki and Melisizwe and Bayani and Chael. Names that suggest power.

And less exotic names like Miguel and Joshua Turnbull, the vampire from Denver, the only one to allow a smile to touch his lips. There are two women among them. A beautiful West Indian whose name, Rani, I’m told, means queen and Brianna, an Australian.

The faces behind the names are ageless and old. They are devoid of expression as they look at me, allowing not a glimmer of thought or emotion to escape. The history of the world could be concealed behind those perfect, empty faces.

When introductions are concluded, Joshua Turnbull takes over. He rises, bows his head in my direction. His attitude here is far more deferential than when we were together in Denver.

He begins to speak, telepathically, so all can understand.

This is the Council of Thirteen. Gathered together as we have since the beginning to anoint the Chosen One. We come from all parts of the world. Some of you have made the journey before. Some of us are newly appointed to our positions, the result of having lost one of our own to the second death.

He pauses, points to the woman Brianna. This one lost her friend and mentor, the ancient one we called Aiden, by the hand of a Revenger. We mourn his passing.

He looks at me. I lost a friend, as well. Avery, in whose house we gather today. Some would say he brought about his own destruction by a careless and unnecessary act of violence against a human who bore him no harm. Still, he is gone and deserving of our respect. We take a moment to honor our fallen comrades.

Turnbull’s eyes are on me as the circle pays final respects. I hadn’t known before this moment that Avery had been one of the thirteen. It suddenly becomes more likely that Turnbull will be the one to make the challenge. If Judith has convinced him that I am responsible for Williams’ death as well, it is more than likely.

Turnbull waits until the others raise their heads and look to him to continue.

As it is written in the Grimoire, we meet on this occasion to determine the future of the vampire community. We place this terrible burden on the shoulders of one. One who is marked as Chosen. A vampire of particular cunning and strength. A vampire who possesses extraordinary abilities.

Anna Strong was so marked. She is unharmed by fire. She is canny in ways we are not. She has strength and courage. Avery saw it from the first moment. He was not wise in the way he chose to teach her our ways. He paid for that mistake. But he brought her to our attention, and we are here today because of him.

The vampire known as Chael stands. He is slight of stature, dark-skinned, with eyes that are hard and black as flint.

Is it true that she is responsible for Avery’s death? And also that of our friend Warren Williams?

I stand, too, to defend myself.

Turnbull stops me with a message sent solely to me. You will not speak. I am appointed to defend you. You may have an opportunity later. But I will answer for you now. This is the way.

His eyes narrow, as if asking me to acquiesce to his request. He is somber and respectful and despite my natural inclination to forge ahead, I do give in. I am out of my element here. I can always revert to the impulsive, imprudent and immature side of my nature later.

I sit back down.

He addresses Chael. Avery was my good friend. I loved him as a brother. But he had a flaw. He felt it necessary to exercise complete control over everyone within his sphere of influence. He attempted to control Anna Strong. He kidnapped her human partner, bled him almost to the point of death. He burned her home. He committed acts that could have brought unwanted and harmful attention to the vampire community. Anna Strong staked him in defense of her life. The act, while regrettable, was justifiable.