Henri grins. “Good.” But, after a brief pause, he adds, “Although I have only invited four guests this time.”
I stare at him, confused. Henri laughs.
“Yes, it’s true. But I am glad you’ve prepared for a party that large. These men are my equals or superiors and should be treated as such. So keep your plans. I need this evening to be grand.” Henri pushes out his chair, the glass still swinging between his fingers as he speaks. “I will introduce you to them when they arrive. They are great men, men of power, experience, and wisdom. One, in particular—Malcolm—is my father.”
I don’t miss it when his eyes snap Lysander’s way. Or how Lysander stiffens in place, his face growing a little paler. He’s in shock, something I never thought I’d see on the man.
He knows of Henri’s father? And from his reaction, I’d say very well, in fact.
“I mean father in the sense that he gave me this immortal life, as I have given to you. It is crucial that he see how I’ve used this gift he bestowed upon me and how I have helped so many. Like you and Haven.”
I say nothing.
He walks around the table to stand before me. “I will have you on my right hand and Haven on my left—the epitome of excellence.”
Not sure what else to do, I bow again, my eyes flickering back to Lysander. My friend has recovered from his partially paralyzed state but is now mouthing the name “Malcolm” to himself in disbelief.
If this Malcolm had shaken Lysander so much, theremay be more to worry about than just Henri and our escape attempt. We may be in trouble.
“Now go.” Henri waves me off, his voice sharp. “Prepare four rooms in the east wing. I am sure they will be staying a night or two.”
As I stride to the door, Lysander and I lock stares. Is that actual fear I see on his face? Dread? I thought nothing could scare him like this. It makes my own heart thunder.
Have we been doomed from the start?
Chapter 13
Haven
Standing before my bedroom door, my hand still hovers over the handle, knees locked. The need to cry again is becoming too great, and I squeeze my lids closed to try and keep the tears at bay. Why did I believe that I could stay away from Henri for two nights? Why did I think things could get easier for us?
At the sound of hurried footsteps, I turn toward the stairs. It’s Avrum, and from the look on his face, he isn’t as confident as he was when I’d left him, and that makes more nausea roll through me.
Suddenly, his arms are around me, bringing me close. I bury my face in his chest, enjoying the feeling of him surrounding me like a wall. Protected.
He kisses the top of my head.
“It’s over, isn’t it?” I say, my voice muffled by his shirt. “He knows.”
He squeezes me a little and it soothes me somewhat. “No, no,” he whispers, and kisses me again. “He doesn’t know about us.”
I peer up at him, and his hold loosens. “But he wants me to go to his bed, Avrum. If I go, he’ll drink from me and—” I can’t even utter the words out loud.
“No. I won’t let him.”
I want to tell him it’s foolish to think that he can keep Henri from me, but I don’t say anything. A part of me longs to believe what he says is true and he can really keep me safe from such a monster.
When Avrum steps back, I wipe my wet face with the back of my hand and then hear the creaking of the wooden stairs. Seconds later, Lysander appears and hurries over.
“Malcolm?” is all Avrum says to him.
I had heard that name before from Henri, but I don’t know what it means or why Avrum is bringing it up now to his friend. Lysander only blinks.
“Do you know him?” he presses.
The blond Frenchman glances at me. “Yes,” he replies with a short sigh. “I know him.”
“Who is he?” Avrum grows impatient, while I still don’t understand the importance of this man’s name.
