Eventually, and yet all too soon, Anton dragged Dmitri offstage, Lucille departed for her corner, and Roger and Seamus rejoined their group. After a few minutes, Ezra came back, and though he looked extra pale, he seemed all right as he sat beside Candide. The lights in the club returned to that dim murkiness that provided more shadows than illumination. The sounds … Zack put those out of his mind. Other vampires were claiming their victims or amusing themselves with their pets. Either way, there was nothing Zack could do for another mortal.
What would these vampires be like under Roger’s command? Roger was going to demand they stop killing people, right? But then he’d just murdered someone in front of all of them, so how could he make that demand?
Roger’s aura was colder than it’d ever been, and a chill settled into Zack. There was a quality to him, a liveliness, that was hard to pinpoint, but once Zack spotted it, he couldn’t stop noticing the subtle change. In the pale light, Roger almost had a glow to his pale skin, and his eyes were maroon. Specks of blood dotted his clothing.
If there was conversation, Zack didn’t hear it past the high-pitched whine in his ears. Candide, Takashi, Roger, Seamus—the four of them were chatting like they’d just met for fucking drinks after a long day of work. The casual camaraderie was a strange melody with the background percussion of the occasional scream, laugh, or erotic moan.
“Is he all right?” Seamus asked suddenly.
“I’m afraid tonight has been rather intense,” Roger said. “I should get him and the others home, don’t you think, Takashi?”
“Am I terrible if I admit that I’m longing to get back to this book I’m reading?” Takashi said.
“I don’t think so,” Candide replied.
“Zackery,” Seamus said.
The mental warnings to keep his gaze low came a fraction too late. Upon hearing his name, Zack automatically turned his attention to Seamus. His mottled blue eyes lacked warmth to a degree that Zack wondered if he’d ever been human at all. The cold, sharp intelligence felt as piercing as a dagger.
“Don’t tell me that spirit of yours is withering, Zackery. I’d be disappointed,” Seamus replied.
Because that was what everyone around Seamus did, Zack realized. They cut themselves down to fit into tiny boxes or stayed out of the light long enough that they forgot how to grow. The other pets sitting in this nest of vampires were doing their best to pretend they didn’t even exist, and the conversation Roger, Takashi, and Candide had carried on had had such an element of falsehood to it that Zack wanted to puke.
Hunters had to work with their fear, not give in to it.Hunter. That’s what he was, deep down in his soul. His family couldn’t take that away from him, and he couldn’t pretend that wasn’t a part of him.
And a predator was watching his every movement, waiting for him to expose a weakness in order to pounce.
Surviving Seamus wasn’t about shriveling away from the nurturing light but stretching toward it despite the bastard. After all, Roger had shown incredible power circumventing the young hunter’s tattoo. Zack wasn’t sure how far Roger had gone with it, but the guy had been shaking so hard he could hardly stand. By the end, he was standing straight enough that Zack could tell his fear was gone. Roger and Seamus had kissed like equals. Seamus wasn’t tolerating their presence; he was entertaining them.
Zack slid to the edge of his seat. Clever words were failing him. Holding Seamus’s gaze seemed to sap his courage because there was some hunger in his eyes that bothered Zack. Like Seamus was waiting to devour him.No, he’s got something else in mind. But why show any interest in me? What would he want fromme?
And a tiny, irrepressible part of him thought he recognized that hunger in Seamus, that he’d seen some glimmer of that monster before.
In the mirror.
That wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. Seamus was a millennium-old vampire. There was nothing Zack could have in common with such a creature.
Recoiling from the thought, Zack pressed into Roger’s side. “I think I’m tired, master.”
Roger kissed the top of his head. “I will take them home, then, if that’s all right, Seamus.”
“I’m surprised you’ve stayed this long,” Seamus mused. His gaze continued to burrow into Zack. “Go on. Take care of yourselves. I’ll see you again soon.”
Returning to the hotel suite happened in a blur. Zack went through the motions with the others, but no one said anything more than necessary between leaving, the ride back, and walking through the hotel lobby. Zack passed under the chandelier without raising his gaze. He couldn’t stand it if this would be the night that he finally figured out whether or not pixies had died in the making of the glowing glass.
Without the constant press of new horrors, Zack was left to spin his mind around what he had witnessed. Roger leading the hunter out, ungagging him, treating him like he’d done with Zack. Kind. Thoughtful.
And he’d bled him dry.
No one said anything on the elevator ride up.
No one said anything as they entered the suite.
Zack hesitated just inside the door. The clang of it shutting behind him rattled speech from him finally. “That was fucked-up, right?”
Everyone was in mid-retreat. Takashi had headed toward the bar in the corner while Kit had plopped onto the leather sofa in front of the massive television. Carver had a foot on the stairs that led to the two other bedrooms. Roger was halfway to the balcony.
“I’m not the only one thinking it, am I?” Zack asked.
