The last time the game had been played, Denny had been the “guard.” Zack had been thirteen. And he had recently realized that he had a crush on a boy in his class, recently figured out that the reason he really likedTwilightso much was that he liked looking ateveryonein the movie. That if they were all his age, the butterflies in his stomach would make more sense. In trying to understand, he’d talked to his family. Even to Cal. And Cal had told Denny.
And Denny. Well. Roger wasn’t wrong in thinking there were bigots in Zack’s family. Denny’s bigotry wasn’t limited to humanversus supernaturals. While Zack was tied up, Denny started to hit him.
The way Seamus had killed him hadn’t been as terrifying as that afternoon. Zack had shoved that memory into the furthest corner of his mind so he didn’t have to think about it the next time he saw Denny at his grandparents’ house. When he saw him posting on the HIN. When he had to deal with him being always at the edge of his fucking life.
But he still knew the curve and taste of that fear he’d felt from the inside. The worst was that it wasn’t pure fear. In his mind’s eye, with fears and desires existing like ink on pages, the shape of the words was terror, but the color and touch of the ink was desire. Terror at what was happening, and yet, deep down, the longing for another’s faith. To be loved. To be forgiven.
Zack had been there. Had lived with his older cousins and brother mocking him and being upset with him because he’d “ruined” the game. Had them feel justified when he’d “screwed up” in Detroit and let a teenage vampire girl run. They had called him weak and a monster lover. And through all that pain, he had only wished his family to see him. To be accepted by them in the way he was accepting them.
Roger had once said that he hated what Zack’s family had done to him.
And here, in the last place he’d ever thought he’d be, Zack traced Anton’s mental page and felt the familiar shapes and inks, andGod, no wonder Roger hates the Wrights and Gladwells for my sake. They weren’t this level of wrong, his fears of them not nearly so sharp, but fuck, it was too close. Too real. They had fucked him up in so many ways beyond teaching him to hate supernaturals.
And Seamus had fucked up Anton.
Rather than letting it break his heart, touching Anton’s fear pushed the fires of Seamus’s rage from Zack’s mind. His ownfierce impulse to protect became a wall, then a fortress with an abyssal moat. The firestorm could rage outside. He would not cave to it.
The sound of flesh striking flesh, of a low grunt before a devastating kick, of the snap of bones and the sharp, stifled moan of pain was a song too familiar. As Zack drew closer to the room where Seamus and Anton were, he had to find the strength in his walls to keep from tumbling into the memory of his death. He teetered on the edge, and his panic was on the tip of his tongue.
Then he reached the broken door, and the world outside his mind took his full attention.
Seamus was bent over Anton, and he drove his fist downward into him. Over and over. Each strike was followed by a crunch. The smell of Anton’s blood overpowered the roses in the room and the hallway. Though he had supernatural healing, the seriousness and consistency of his wounds was hard for his body to heal. Zack had never seen a vampire bruise, but Anton had two black eyes. A broken nose. Worse.
Zack eased his way through the broken door and strode into the room.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to the plans I’ve been making?” Seamus demanded. “Answer me!”
“What plans?” Anton asked desperately. “You haven’t shared in so long. My love?—”
“Don’t call me that when you’ve betrayed everything we’ve been!” Seamus screamed as he hoisted Anton up and then tossed him like a rag doll across the room.
In that split second when they were separated, Zack filtered through data at an inhuman speed. Anton was known for being capricious. Out of all the vampires Zack had met, he had perhaps the most masks. He was violent and bloodthirsty, and he could wield the power of shadows and arcane forces. Yet there heremained crumpled on the floor without a hint that he was going to raise any of that formidable power against Seamus.
Memory combined with the information he’d gathered. Roger had killed a hunter on the stage at Devil’s Cove because violence was the only way to convince Seamus that he was a loyal vampire. He’d let Seamus kiss him there. He’d repeatedly said that he’d adopted the carefree persona because it was how he survived.
Roger had only been with Seamus for three hundred years.
Anton had been surviving him foreight hundred.
That didn’t excuse his evil. Zack was certain Anton had harmed Dmitri in worse ways than Seamus was visiting upon Anton now, and he definitely had something to do with the teenage girls in the other room.
But Anton suddenly made sense.
No wonder Roger had focused on his want to kill Seamus. He truly was the rot at the center of everything. Anton was likely past any point—or desire—for redemption, but Zack couldn’t help wondering what he would be without Seamus in his life.
Those thoughts passed in quick succession in a fraction of a second. As Seamus began to stalk toward Anton, Zack raced ahead of him, turned to face him, and stood directly in his path. Seamus snarled at him. His face was twisted with so much anger that he finally looked like the monster he was. He swung at Zack.
Seamus had been burning through the energy he’d taken that night.
Zack hadn’t. He saw the punch coming in almost slow motion and easily slid out of the way. The next was simple to dodge as well. On Seamus’s third attempt, Zack grabbed his wrist tightly and then slammed his hand against his chest. Seamus groaned as Zack dislocated his arm. But the monster’s pain didn’t matter. Zack spun him by his injured arm and then threw him to the opposite of the room.
The desire to rend was turning toward him.
I don’t know why you’re suddenly pissed off,Carver had said after Zack had been cruel to him,but I know it’s not because I tried to help you get up from a fall. And if it is,you’rethe one who can fuck off. Had Seamus seen Zack’s desire to lash out at others when he was pissed? Had he assumed that was the same as what he did to others? Was that why he thought Zack would make a good son?I wish Carver was alive so I could thank him for stopping me from turning into a bigger asshole.
Seamus stood and shoved his arm back into place. “You have one opportunity to step out of my way, Zackery.”
“Oh, grow the fuck up,” Zack snapped. He gestured at Anton on the floor behind him. “I’m a newbie, and I can tell that the only desire he’s feeling right now is one to please you. He wasn’t the one who stole your money.”
