And Roger found his footing and his first rule.Doing the right thing shouldn’t be a death sentence. Of course, that would have to spiral into what was “right,” but there were some things that should be sacred. They shouldn’t fear that their loved ones would be ripped away from them. They shouldn’t have to endlessly dance to Seamus’s amusement to a wretched tempo that left them exhausted and terrified.
They should have a goddamnchoicein their lives.
Roger lifted his chin and scanned each of them. Takashi had adopted a pose similar to his own, a patient look in his blue eyes. Dmitri was ever the brooding one in the corner. Lucille and Dempsey held themselves like Candide did, and she was a statue of poise and grace except for her hand in Ezra’s hair.
And he realized that Ezra and Candide must have found a fragment of peace in each other, the same sort of peace he was coming to know when he was with Zack or Takashi.
In a clear voice, Roger said, “I intend to rid us of our vile masters and claim the seat of master of the Great Lakes Coven.”
Silence stretched. The room must have been soundproofed because Roger didn’t hear a trace of sound from the parlor.
Dempsey sagged in his seat and sprawled his long legs out. “About time one of you old bastards got your shit together.”
“I’d love to believe this isn’t some foul plot of Seamus’s. Some attempt to rile us into a conspiracy and turn on us, perhaps?” Lucille said sharply.
“It isn’t.” Candide ruffled Ezra’s hair.
Because of course, Ezra had shared his burning passion to rid the world of Anton and Seamus with his lover. Roger met Candide’s gaze and saw steadiness in her. Knowing one another so long, he could tell she was on board with his dream.
She gave him a small smile, then said, “I was hoping you had a greater plan than murder the monsters.”
“He doesn’t have aplan,” Dmitri scoffed. “He simply wants the power.”
“What exactly did you envision would happen to the coven once Seamus was dead? That everyone would peacefully carry on with their lives?” Roger asked.
Snarling, Dmitri stalked toward Roger. Every word dripped with hate, and he pulsed with a desire for violence like a roll of thunder preceding an oncoming storm. “We didn’t meet in 1989 to discuss killing Seamus.Antonwas our target, butyouhave hardly mentioned his name. No, it’s been about Seamus. Seamus. Seamus! And I have to wonder how long you might have hoped for a chance to overthrow him. Because you can lie and pretend to have all these fucking airs of gentility, but I know you. I can imagine what you would do with the leadership. You’ll fuck. You’ll feed. You’ll run it into the ground because you don’t actually give a damn about anything besides your own desires.”
Roger could retaliate with all the tiny things he had done for others. His mind was already flitting with indignant responses.
But a memory rose into place as he stared into Dmitri’s eyes. He’d seen hate and despair in him before.
Roger had been pretty in his youth and handsome as a man. He’d never been short of partners, never balked at using his body to get what he needed. A bed. Food. A ship to sail on. Steady work. But he’d grown tired of his bosun’s demands and left the ship, walking along the docks until he found another that would take him on. He’d spotted Dmitri on the deck, and a piece of him had clicked into place. The crew had been surly and turned out to be pirates, but Roger had never cared whether his work was deemed legal. Governments were merely thieves with better organizational skills.
And it hadn’t taken Roger long to fall into Dmitri’s orbit. Half a dozen languages were spoken on board the ship, but Dmitri was the only Russian. Roger had taken the time to learn from him, and they’d had their own language.
The moment that was making his heart ache in the present was from one of the longest nights of his life. He’d woken, and Dmitri hadn’t been in his hammock. Later on, he’d convince himself it was destiny, but he wandered out to the deck. Dmitri had been at the side of the ship, staring into the waters under the full moonlight. The bits of conversation were erased from his mind, but the intent and hatred in Dmitri’s eyes was there.
He’d intended to throw himself overboard, the depths of his self-hate had gone that far.
Roger had stopped him. Stayed with him. Done it again and again any other night Dmitri thought the hatred would finally claim him. They hadn’t dared to give that mood a name, but Roger recognized it now: depression. Vampirism hadn’t erased it, but Dmitri had become busy. He never kept pets for long. He had a habit of killing them, but then he had a habit of picking assholes, so Roger had never given it much thought.
Dmitri still hated himself. And he had plenty of hate to spread. He had it for Anton, who’d made him.
And he clearly had it for Roger.
Our love never stood a chance.Roger braced against that thought. It wasn’t a fair one, but it felt true in its sting.
Dmitri expected him to be cruel in his response. That’s what vampires were.
That wasn’t all Roger was.
Remaining calm, Roger said, “Seamus won’t stand by while Anton is assassinated. He would route us and burn the world to ash.”
“And what is the problem with that?” Dmitri hissed.
“I, for one, like the world. And I adore being in it,” Takashi said.
“Same,” Lucille said.
