The anger in Vincent’s voice left behind an ache that reverberated through Roger. Slowly, Roger walked around the bar and found a clean dish towel. He took one of the freshly cleaned glasses and began to dry it.
Perhaps he had already opened too many of the chests at the bottom of his sea. Perhaps the agony had already been floating to the surface, and now that the storm was settled, he could more easily spot the detritus of old terrors. Either way, the pains weren’t forgotten. They were scraping his hull, threatening to tear it.
“I know your pain,” Roger said quietly.
“Sure you do.”
We cannot heal wounds we do not tend. I’ve let this one fester too long.Not wanting to see Vincent’s reaction, he focused on drying every drop from the two glasses. “Father and mother are words I’ve never understood. I ran away when I was twelve. I did anything I could to find a warm bed to sleep in. Anything.”
Vincent remained quiet.
That silent respect and patience helped Roger continue. “I made my way to the coast and found work on a ship. There is nothing in the world like sailing across the sea. I learned how to be part of a crew. Found a ship where my worth wasn’t based on the shape of me. I worked. I drank, I fought, I fucked, I loved. It was pure freedom.
“A storm struck, as they do, and our ship was damaged. We found the nearest port and thanked God it had a settlement largeenough to do the repairs.” Roger put the glasses back where they belonged. “The island was called Devil’s Cove. By the end of the first night, I was dead. Three nights later, I rose as Seamus’s sireling.”
“Did he give you a choice?” Vincent asked.
“No.” Roger leaned against the counter. “I woke with incredibly powerful senses and a bloodlust, but other than that, I felt the same. Only I had a master. I kept him happy because it kept me alive, and I’d wager you’ve done the same. I lived in terror of him for three hundred years, at times convincing myself that my life wasn’t a wretched waste because you have to in order to keep from going mad.
“I know you tormented Zack with that online video, but I doubt that you were trying to bully him into submission. You were trying to make him unappealing because you were afraid to lose Seamus’s admiration.”
Vincent’s lip quivered. “Did … did Zack talk to you?”
“Not about you.”
“Then how did you know?”
“Because I’ve done the same,” Roger replied. “I was young, and I made another pirate a sireling. Seamus liked him, seemed to like him more than me. I was only ten years a vampire, but I’d seen his habits. I convinced my sireling to do something that humiliated Seamus in front of the crew. When he disappeared, I told myself that he ran away and joined another ship.”
“But he didn’t.”
“I have no proof, but I doubt he did.” Roger drew his shoulders straight. He had to face his past and refuse to allow it to drag him under its riptide. “His death was my fault, and it’s a sin I don’t feel guilt for. I can’t stop to think of all the wrong I’ve done to survive. The guilt would grind me into dust. Whatever you’ve done, I won’t judge you. I don’t have the right, and I too keenly understand the need.”
A bubble of a sob was lodged in Vincent, and he held it in. He had his clenched fists on the counter in front of him and bit his lip. Tears began to fall. Once started, they became rivers, and the sob broke out of him. “You’re not supposed to get it. You’re supposed to be a bastard and use me like the rest of them.”
Roger put a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. At first, the boy moved to shake him off, and Roger planned on allowing that, but then Vincent plunged toward him and locked his arms around him. As tenderly as he could, Roger returned the hug. Each of Vincent’s sobs rocked through Roger, shaking something loose deep in his soul.
The boy he’d been had never had a hug like this. Had never spoken once of what he’d endured. The man—the vampire he was—had barely mentioned the surface of his wounds from Seamus to his loved ones.
And because he couldn’t hug that long-lost boy, he hugged Vincent with everything he wished he could have had himself.
CHAPTER 8
Another sunset. Every minute past dark added another pound to the weight on Roger’s shoulders. Endless possible failures paraded through his imagination, each worse than the last. Would he be too late? Had Seamus broken Takashi’s sanity? Was Zack still alive?
Roger could very well be leading Cal, Amber, and Thomas to their deaths. Even if they succeeded, Roger would have to watch out for treachery. Amber and Thomas seemed to hold him as an ally, but Cal never would.
Their meeting place was at a park a quarter mile from the edge of Seamus’s property. Roger parked the car he’d borrowed from Nathaniel again farther away than that and used a burst of vampiric speed to bring him to the location well before the arranged time.
He’d outfitted a belt with his own version of a hunter’s kit. He had a UV flashlight, a silver-plated dagger he’d found in a magic shop down the street from the Last Deal, and three stakes that Vincent had carved for him that day. In addition to those supplies, he had a small backpack with a few blood bags in case Takashi was starved.
The Wrights arrived on schedule. However, only Amber hopped out of the truck. Cal and Thomas remained within while she approached. “They’re just taking a second to go over the plan again.”
Glass vibrated with their voices, transmitting far better than walls did. A human might not have made much sense of the muffled sounds, but Roger could pick out words. Cal wanted to stab him in the back before they ever left for the mansion. Thomas was scolding him.
Roger folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the tree.Knew he would be the problem.The rage he’d found last night churned again.
Instead of giving in to it, he focused on the exterior. He said dryly, “Honestly, I was hoping that they’d leave you at home.”
