“I’m a vampire,” he insisted. The fact that none of them had ever met another two-hundred-year-old vampire didn’t mean they didn’t exist. It couldn’t.
“You were different even as a human,” Roland went on, “possessed gifts or abilities you hid from others, gifts your friend Blaise did not.”
How did he know that?
“Perhaps you … read minds or can discern the emotions of others with a touch?”
Bastien’s heart began to pound.
Roland was studying him intently. “All immortals were different as humans. No doubt your sister had special gifts as well.”
She had. She had been born with psychometric abilities, receiving glimpses of past events that were related to objects she touched.
“Except immortals were never human,” Bastien uttered numbly. “Their … your DNA is different from ours.”
Roland’s gaze sharpened. “That isn’t common knowledge amongst vampires. How did you know that?”
“I took a sample of your blood, remember? I had it tested.”
Roland exchanged a grim glance with Sarah. “By whom?”
“A biochemist who is helping me search for a cure. He said you were different, that you aren’t human and never were.”
“If he didn’t say the same of you, then he hasn’t tested your blood yet.”
He hadn’t. Always nervous around Bastien, Keegan had said Casey’s blood would suffice.
“Have you ever met a vampire who had gifts like yours?”
Not one. But Bastien didn’t say so.
“All immortals possess them, though the gifts differ from person to person. They did not acquire them after the transformation. They were born with them, as you were.”
Sarah took a step forward, then stopped when Roland motioned for her to stay back. “You even look like them, Bastien. Same hair. Same eyes. Similar features.”
It sounded as if she thought he was lucky. What was that about?
Mentally, he shook himself. “It doesn’t matter whether I’m vampire or immortal.” The hell it didn’t. “Roland killed my sister and turned her husband. He—”
“I’ve never seen that woman before!” Roland shouted.
Sarah waved the sword to gain their attention. “Your friend told you Roland turned him?”
“Yes.”
“He mentioned Roland specifically by name?”
Roland made a sound of irritation. “He already said he did, Sarah.”
“No, he didn’t. I know you’re grumpy, honey, but be patient and let me finish.”
Bastien was shocked when Roland immediately backed down.
“Bastien, did your brother-in-law mention Roland by name when he told you what had happened and that he had been transformed?”
“He didn’t know Roland’s name then. Only his face.” He curled his lip as he eyed Roland distastefully. “He said he’d never forget it as long as he lived.”
Sarah spoke before Roland could. “When did he tell you it was Roland?”
“Five years later. We were in London. Blaise had been out feeding and returned white as a sheet. He said he had seen the one who’d turned him and, over the next two weeks, claimed the immortal was hunting him. The night Blaise was killed, I arrived as Roland was leaving and later uncovered his name myself.”
“Well, isn’t that convenient,” Roland said contemptuously. “For years, he couldn’t tell you who transformed him, then suddenly decided it was me when he realized I was hunting his sorry ass. Your friend was full of shit. He was slaughtering women in the rookery. When I followed the trail of bodies to him, he got scared and pointed his bloody finger at me, probably hoping you’d kill me.”
“Bullshit! He wasn’t the one killing women. You were!” And Roland had started by killing sweet Cat.
Roland emitted a mocking laugh. “I suppose he told you that, too?”
Bastien swung at him, wanting to knock the disparaging smile from Roland’s face.
Roland dodged his fist, then shoved him up against the wall again. Raising his sai, Roland pressed the tip to Bastien’s chest above his uninjured lung. “Did he also tell you I found him crouched over a pregnant woman whose throat was missing? Her blood was all over his face. Her pulse gone. The babe in her belly dead.”
He leaned closer, eyes cold as ice. “‘Now we can be a family again,’ he was telling her. ‘We’ll be together for eternity, Catherine. You, me, and the baby.’ The sick bastard had tried to turn a pregnant woman but, driven by bloodlust, had savaged her throat too badly instead!”
Bastien’s heart began to pound.
No hint of deception bled forth from Roland. There was irritation over Bastien’s refusal to listen, disgust over Blaise’s actions, and anger over the death of the woman and her babe, yet nothing that indicated he wasn’t telling the absolute truth.
“And there were others,” Roland persisted. “At least six other women murdered just in the two weeks I hunted him.”
Mouth suddenly dry, Bastien forced himself to speak. “Were they pregnant?”
“The last three were. Noticeably. If the earlier victims were, you couldn’t tell by looking and I didn’t check.”
Something inside Bastien started to crumble. His disbelief. His faith in his friend. He felt sick.
It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. Everything that had driven him for the past two hundred years could not have been a lie.
“What is it?” Sarah asked cautiously.
He met her gaze, wondering if the pain and nausea invading him now was similar to what she must have felt when she had hit her head. “Cat was pregnant when she died.”
Sarah bit her lip, her eyes turning sorrowful. “Your sister’s name was Cat?”
“Short for Catherine.”
Roland sighed heavily and stepped back.
Bastien met the immortal’s gaze. “If you didn’t kill her … who did?”
Roland shook his head regretfully. “You already know the answer to that.”
Blaise.
Chapter 18
Sarah watched the emotions flitting across Bastien’s battered face. Even though she was angry at him for kidnapping her and trying to kill Roland, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
He had been trying to avenge his sister’s death and instead had learned that his brother-in-law and best friend was the one who had murdered her, and he had his enemy to thank for bringing him to justice.
What a mess.
“Why?” he asked Roland. “Why would he kill her? He loved her. I know he did.”
“The bloodlust is very strong in the beginning, even stronger in vampires than it is in us.” Roland shook his head. “He may have only intended to take a sip and lost control. It’s how I killed my wife.”
Sarah wished she could find a way to erase that memory for him.
Seth, Marcus, Lisette, and Étienne entered the next room.
Their faces were Jackson Pollocked with scarlet streaks and blotches. Lisette and Étienne’s rubber suits glistened wetly and sported numerous neat cuts. Marcus’s clothing was torn in several places and boasted large damp patches. Seth’s clothes, though stained, were completely intact.
All four, from the knees down, looked as though they had waded through a vat of blood.
As they strolled forward to stand just inside the entrance of the small room Sarah, Roland, and Bastien occupied, Bastien stiffened and straightened his shoulders.
Marcus took in the chains on the wall, as well as Roland’s and Bastien’s bloody dishevelment, with speculative eyes.
Lisette moved to stand beside Sarah. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “How about you?”
“I could use a shower.”
Bastien stared at Seth. “You’re the daywalker.”
“Yes.” Seth looked past Sarah at the painting, his face grim. “I know this comes inexcusably late”—he met Bastien’s combative gaze—“but I would like to offer my sincere condolences on the death of your sister.”