CHAPTER 28
A creeping chill had settled into Zack’s bones, and it had nothing to do with the cold-ass club or the vampires’ auras. A whole conversation had happened in front of him, and Zack couldn’t do anything besides watch. Seamus had been clearly digging deep, trying to get a reaction out of Roger or Candide, and they just sat there and took it. Zack knew why in theory, but seeing the practice of it was torture. He was glad for the protection of his tattoo because he’d wanted to tell Seamus to fuck off to hell. He’d wanted to lose his whole temper on every vile thing that was happening inside the club.
The party had been bad enough. But someone screamed in the near distance. It was cut short, and there was the terrible sound of sucking and moaning floating underneath the general murmur of conversation.
And all Zack could do was put one foot after another. He focused on Vincent’s back. That served as a distraction for only a second because Vincent was wearing very little. His shorts were deep red and didn’t entirely cover the bottom of his ass. Though his shirt had long sleeves, the material was sheer to the point of transparency. Even in the dim lighting, Zack could trace bruises, wounds, and scars on Vincent’s back. He was covered in them.
“Holy shit,” Zack whispered.
Vincent sneered at him over his shoulder. “I thought hunters didn’t have weak stomachs. I guess that explains why you never earned a moniker. Your brother’s theButcher, and you’renothing.”
Zack grabbed Vincent’s arm and twisted him around to face him. A pent-up breath caught in his lungs and burned with the anger he’d been shoving down while Roger and Takashi suffered sitting near Seamus. Months had been compounding inside him. No,years, because shit with the family had always been boiling underneath the surface. And protocol demanded that he show Vincent some measure of respect since he was the coven master’s head pet, but Seamus didn’t give a damn about his pets. Touching Vincent was like grabbing a ghost. His complexion was pale, his body too thin.
Those details caught a cog in Zack’s mind, and it reversed the spin of his thoughts. Because Roger had buried his hurts and shared only a fraction of that pain to him and Takashi. Every vampire acted like a living porcelain doll around Seamus, as if they were terrified that Seamus would take them off the shelf and slam them onto a concrete slab and dance on the pieces.
And if the life of avampirewas like that, the humans in Seamus’s collection had it a million times worse. The other high-ranking pets of the coven didn’t give a shit about what happened to Vincent. Instead of leading like Reed did, Vincent was a spectacle to everyone. Because Seamus never kept anyone more than three years, and Vincent’s time was almost up.
He has to be alone. Terrified.Another cog caught and spun. Terror could easily display itself as anger. That was why Zack had lashed out, wasn’t it? He’d been scared that his family really had given up on him and terrified that nothing he did would make a difference. Not knowing if he and Roger were actually a couple had made him act horribly toward Carver, who didn’tdeserve it. Because Carver had been a safe target, someone of seemingly strong armor.
That’s what I am for Vincent. He’s helpless and angry. I’m the safe target to attack.Sure, Vincent had trashed him on the internet, but Zack would recover from that, especially since his friends and lovers didn’t give a damn about what others said on social media about him.
Zack had been mocked by Cal and his cousins his whole life. Not until this precise instant, when everything seemed to run through his mind in lightning-flash equations and evaluations, did he truly appreciate how free he’d been the last few months. Carver had been right. He had a lot of good going on in his life. Roger cherished him. Takashi adored him. Kit and Blake were loyal friends. He had Nell counting on him to slay Seamus, and he’d earned Josefina’s respect. And in addition to all of that, he had a lush bed to sleep in and whatever he wanted to eat. Though he wasn’t safe outside the hotel suite, he was safe inside it.
Vincent didn’t have any luxuries except his anger.
And he didn’t have the endless supply of hurtful, soul-scathing barbs that Cal did. He didn’t know Zack that well.
So Zack grinned at Vincent. “Come on, is that the best you got? Calling me nothing?”
Vincent narrowed his eyes, obviously seeking out some trick.
“You’ve had weeks to think of shit,” Zack said. Technically, they weren’t supposed to talk without permission, but vampires also loved their dramas. Zack didn’t care how many watched. “Or has it been months? How long have you been creeping on my Night Deets?”
“I had to find out what the big deal about Taliville was,” Vincent replied, his haughty attitude rising. “Still haven’t figured it out. There’s like, what, four stores?”
“Eh, I forgot to count,” Zack said.
Vincent puffed up. “And what iswiththe bandages? Do your masters not know how to bite you? Are the wounds still bleeding? Or are you too embarrassed to be seen with fresh bite marks?” He gave a mock gasp. “Wait, do they turn you on? Are you afraid you’ll choke up and get a hard-on where everyone can see? Or are you scared that you will and no one will be able to see your dick anyway?”
“Wow, a small-dick insult.” Zack made a “keep going” gesture with his hands. “You can do better than that.”
A wild look filled Vincent’s blue eyes. For a heartbeat, Zack thought he was going to go for a slap. Instead, Vincent grinned broadly, and the fire in his gaze diminished to a flicker of amusement. He straightened his shoulders. “You are, without a doubt, theworstexcuse for a head pet I’ve ever seen. Your wardrobe looks like it was picked up off a sales rack three years ago, your masters coddle your injuries, you can’t stand to be around other pets, and you’ve been here weeks without a public feeding. Oh! Maybe that’s what the bandages are hiding! You only want us tothinkyour masters actually like your blood. Are these scars makeup? Let’s see.”
Zack let Vincent grab his arm roughly and fiercely rub at one of the scars on his wrist. Doing so gave him the opportunity to attempt to count the marks on Vincent’s arms. He got to six before Vincent rotated his arm in a way that he lost count.
Ripping the bandage off was a step too far, but Vincent moved faster than Zack could get his arm free. Fresh droplets of blood seeped from the deeper corners of the wound. Zack hissed, “Shit!”
“I guess they are real,” Vincent said patronizingly. He slapped the bandage back in place.
A favorite game among the Wright cousins was “rescue the damsel.” It involved a “damsel” getting tied up and some cousins pretending to be monsters while the others were the valianthunters who were going to save the hostage. Zack had been picked for damsel more often than most. It was how he’d learned to slip knots and ropes.
He’d also taught himself how to turn off his tears.
And to turn them on.
“Of course they are,” Zack cried. Pinpricks of tears became shallow drops that spilled down his cheeks. He bit his lip and dipped his head.
“Well, perhaps you aren’t entirely useless to your master,” Vincent said snidely. Then he spun on his heels and headed for the bar.
