by J. R. Ward
Jane swallowed hard. “Oh, God . . . Manny . . .”
Christ, he couldn’t believe what came out of his mouth: “It doesn’t matter, Jane. As long as she comes back okay—that’s all I care about.”
She nodded over at the car. “So why are we still talking?”
Good fucking point.
They both ran for the Porsche, strapped in, and took off with Jane behind the wheel.
As she sped over to the Commodore, he was transformed by purpose: He’d blown his shot with his woman once. It was not happening again.
Jane live-parked in front of the high-rise while he jogged into the foyer, shot up the elevator, and hit his place. Moving lightning-fast, he grabbed his laptop, his cell phone charger—
The safe.
Gunning for the closet in his room, he cracked the combo and unlatched the little door. With quick hands and a rock-solid mind, he took out his birth certificate, seven thousand dollars in cash, two gold Piaget watches, and his passport. Dragging over a random bag, he crammed all of that into the thing, along with his computer and charger. Then he picked up two more duffels that were all but throwing up clothes and blasted out of his condo.
As he waited for the elevator, he realized he was checking out of his life. For good. Whether he ended up with Payne or not, he was not returning here—and that wasn’t just about the physical address.
The moment he’d given his keys to Jane, for the second time, he’d turned a corner in a metaphorical snowstorm: He had no idea what was in front of him, but there was no going back, and he was fine with that.
Back down on the street, he tossed his shit into the trunk and the rear seat. “Let’s do this.”
About thirty-five minutes later, Manny was once again in the foggy terrain of the vampires’ mountain.
Glancing down at the near-ruined cell phone in his palm, he prayed to God that this possible link between him and Payne brought them back together again—and gave him a shot at what he’d thrown away—
“Holy . . . shit . . .” Up ahead, emerging from out of the strange haze, a tremendous pile of rock loomed, big as Rushmore. “That’s a . . . fucking house.”
Mausoleum was another word for it.
“The Brothers take security very seriously.” Jane pulled the car up in front of a set of stairs that was worthy of a cathedral.
“Either that,” he muttered, “or someone’s in-laws have a quarry.”
They got out together, and before he snagged his bags, he surveyed the landscape. The retaining wall that led off in both directions rose to a good twenty feet off the ground, and there were cameras all over its exterior, as well as twists of barbwire across the top. The mansion itself was enormous, sprawling in all directions, looking to be four stories high. And talk about a fortress: All the windows were covered with sheets of metal, and those double doors? Looked like you’d need a tank to get through them.
There were a number of cars in the courtyard, some of which, under other circumstances, he’d have had a serious jones for, and also another, far smaller house made from the same stone as the castle. The fountain in the center was dry, but he could imagine the peaceful sounds it would make as the water fell.
“This way,” Jane said as she popped the trunk and took out one of his duffels.
“I’ll get that.” He took what she’d grabbed, as well as the other two. “Ladies first.”
She’d called her man on the way in, so Manny had a pretty good idea that Payne’s people weren’t going to kill him outright. But who could tell for sure?
Good thing he didn’t give a shit about himself right now.
At the grand entrance, she rang the bell and a lock switched open. Stepping inside with her, he found himself in a windowless vestibule that made him think of a jail . . . a very classy, expensive jail with handcarved wood panels and the scent of lemon in the air.
No way they were coming out of this space unless someone let them.
Jane spoke into a camera. “It’s us. We’re—”
The second set of doors was cracked immediately, and Manny had to blink a couple of times as the way in was opened. The brilliant, colorful foyer on the far side was nothing he’d expected: Majestic and with all the hues of the rainbow, it was everything the fortified exterior was not. And dear Lord, it seemed like every conceivable type of decorative marble and stone had been used . . . and holy shit from all the crystal and the gold leafing.
Then he stepped inside and saw the frescoed ceiling three stories up . . . and a staircase that made the one from Gone With the Wind look like a stepladder.
Just as the door shut behind him, Payne’s brother came out of what looked like a poolroom, with Red Sox by his side. As the vampire strode forward, he was all business as he put a hand-rolled between his fangs and jacked up his black leathers.
Stopping in front of Manny, the two of them locked eyes . . . until you had to wonder if it was all going to be over before it started—with Manny being made a meal of.
Except then the vampire held out his palm.
Of course—the cell phone.
Manny dropped his bags and took the BlackBerry out of his coat pocket. “Here—this is—”
The guy accepted what was offered but didn’t look at the thing. He just shifted it over to his free hand and put his palm out again.
The gesture was so very simple; its meaning very, very deep.
Manny grabbed for that palm with his own, and neither of them said anything. No reason to have to because the communication was clear: Respect was paid and accepted on both sides.
When they dropped palms, Manny said, “The phone?”
For the vampire, getting into the thing was the work of a moment.
“Jesus . . . you’re fast,” Manny murmured.
“No. This is the one I gave her. I was calling it every hour on the hour. The GPS is busted—otherwise I would have given you the addy you found it in.”
“Fuck.” Manny rubbed his face. “There was nothing else there. Jane and I combed the alley—and I’ve driven around downtown for hours. What now?”
“We wait. It’s all we can do while the sunlight is out. But the instant we go dark, the Brotherhood is tearing out of here with a vengeance. We’ll find her, don’t you worry—”
“I’m coming too,” he said. “Just so we’re clear.”
As Payne’s twin started shaking his head, Manny cut any protesting, be-reasonable shit off. “Sorry. That might be your sister out there . . . but she’s my woman. And that means I’m going to be a part of this.”
At that, the one with the baseball cap took off his hat and smoothed his hair. “Shit on a shingle—”
Manny froze in place, the rest of what the guy said not registering at all.
That face . . . that fucking face.
That—holy shit—face.
Manny had been wrong about where he’d seen the guy.
“What?” the guy said, glancing down at himself.
Manny was vaguely aware of Payne’s brother frowning and Jane looking worried. But his focus was on the other man. He searched those hazel eyes, that mouth, and that chin, trying to find something that didn’t fit, something out of place . . . something that disproved the two-plus-two-is-four he was rocking.
The only thing that was even slightly off was the nose—but that was just because it had been broken at least once.
The truth was in the bones.
And the connection was not the hospital or even St. Patrick’s Cathedral—because come to think of it, he had definitely seen this man, male . . . vampire, whatever . . . at church before.
“What the hell?” Butch muttered, looking at Vishous.
By way of explanation, Manny bent down and rifled through his bags. As he searched for what he hadn’t intentionally brought with him, he knew without a doubt he was going to find it. Fate had lined these dominos up too perfectly for this moment not to happen.
And yup, there it was.
As Manny straightened
, his hands were shaking so badly that the picture frame’s bracer flapped against the back of the matting.
Given that his voice was gone, all he could do was turn the glass around and give the three of them a chance to look at the black-and-white photograph.
Which was the spitting image of the male named Butch.
“This is my father,” Manny said roughly.
The guy’s expression went from yeah, whatever to bald, blanching shock, and his hands started trembling as well as he reached out and carefully took the old picture.
He didn’t bother denying anything. He couldn’t.
Payne’s brother exhaled a cloud of wonderful-smelling smoke. “Fucking. A.”
Well, didn’t that just sum it all up nicely.
Manny glanced at Jane and then eyed the man who might well be a half brother. “Do you recognize him?”
When the guy slowly shook his head, Manny looked over at Payne’s twin. “Can humans and vampires . . .”
“Yup.”
As he went back to staring at a face that shouldn’t have been so familiar, he thought, Shit, how did he put this. “So are you . . .”
“A half-breed?” the guy said. “Yeah. My mother was human.”
“Son of a bitch,” Manny breathed.
FIFTY-FOUR
As Butch held the picture of a man who was undeniably identical to himself, he thought, rather bizarrely, about the yellow signs on highways.
The ones that said things like BRIDGE MAY BE ICY . . . or, WATCH FOR FALLING ROCK . . . or the temporary GIVE ’EM A BRAKE before you got to a work zone. Hell, even the ones with the silhouette of a deer leaping or a big black arrow pointing to the left or the right.
At this moment, standing here in the foyer, he would really have appreciated some advance warning that his life was about to go pigslick, off-the-rails.
Then again, collisions were collisions and couldn’t be planned.
Raising his stare from the photograph, he looked into the human surgeon’s eyes. They were a deep brown, a good old-fashioned port color. But the shape of them . . . God, why hadn’t he seen the similarity to his own before?
“You’re sure,” he heard himself say. “This is your father.”
Except he knew the answer before the guy nodded.
“Who . . . how . . .” Yeah, great journalist he would make, huh. “What . . .”
There you go. Add when and where and he was Anderson-fucking-Cooper.
The thing was, though, after having mated Marissa and gone through his transition, he’d finally found peace with who he was and what was doing in his life. Over in the human world, on the other hand, he’d been estranged from everyone, running parallel but never truly intersecting with his mother and his sisters and his brothers.
And his father, of course.
Or at least the guy he’d been told was his pops.
He’d assumed that with his true home and mate here, he was done with assimilating, having reached a peaceful reconciliation with so much that had been painful.
But didn’t this just kick all that shit up again.
The human spoke gravely. “His name was Robert Bluff. He was a surgeon at Columbia Pres in New York City when my mom was working there as a nurse—”
“My mother was a nurse.” Butch’s mouth felt dry. “But not at that hospital.”
“He practiced a number of places—even . . . over in Boston.”
There was a long silence, during which Butch tested the cold, confusing waters of a possible unfaithfulness on his mother’s part.
“Anyone need a drink, true?” V said.
“Lag—”
“Lagavulin—”
Butch and surgeon both fell silent as Vishous rolled his eyes. “Why is this not a surprise.”
As the brother hit the bar in the billiards room, Manello said, “I never really knew him. Met him, like . . . once? I can’t really remember, to be honest.”
V made like a flight attendant and returned front-and-centered the liquor.
As Butch took a haul from a glass, Manello did the same and then shook his head. “You know, I never liked this shit until after . . .”
“What.”
“You boys started fucking with my head. Used to like Jack. Last year, though . . . everything changed.”
Butch nodded even though he wasn’t tracking. Man, he just couldn’t stop looking at the picture, and after a while, he found that in the strangest way, this was all a relief. Ancestor regression had proven that he was related to Wrath, but he’d never known, or particularly cared to know, exactly how. And yet here it was. In front of him.
Shit, it was kind of like he’d had a disease all this time, and someone had finally put a name to it.
You have Other-father-itis. Or was it a Bastard-oma?
It all made sense. He’d always thought his father had hated him and maybe this was the why behind that. Although it was nearly impossible to imagine his pious, straitlaced mother ever straying, this picture told the story of at least one night with someone else.
His first thought was that he had to get to his mom and ask her for specifics—well, some specifics.
But how was that going to work? Dementia had taken her away from reality, and she was now so far gone she barely recognized him when he dropped by—which was the only reason he could visit her at all. And it wasn’t as if he could ask his sisters or brothers. They’d written him off when he’d disappeared from their orbits, but more to the point, it was unlikely they knew any more than he did.
“Is he still alive?” Butch asked.
“I’m not sure. I used to think he was buried in Pine Grove Cemetery. Now? Who the hell knows.”
“I can find out.” As V spoke up, Butch and Manny both looked over at the brother. “Say the word and I will find him—whether he’s in the vampire world or the human one.”
“Find who?”
The deep voice came from the head of the stairs, and everyone looked up as the words reverberated throughout the foyer. Wrath was standing on the second-floor landing with George at his side, and the king’s mood was easy to guess at even though his eyes were hidden behind those wraparounds: He was in a deadly frame of mind.
Hard to know, however, whether it was the human in the foyer or not because God knew there were a thousand things riding the guy’s ass right about now.
Vishous spoke up—which was a good call. Butch had lost his voice and so had Manello, evidently. “Looks like this fine surgeon may be a relative of yours, my lord.”
As Manello recoiled, Butch thought, Holy crap.
Didn’t that throw another iron into the fire.
Manny rubbed his temples as that tremendous vampire with the waistlong black hair came down the stairs, a blond dog seeming to lead the way. The bastard looked like he owned the place, and given the “my lord” shit, he probably did.
“Did I hear you right, V?” the male asked.
“Yeah. You did.”
Annnnnnnnnnnd that settled another question—because Manny was wondering if he’d been having trouble with his ears, too.
“This is our king,” Vishous announced. “Wrath, son of Wrath. This is Manello. Manny Manello, M.D. Don’t think you two have met formally.”
“You’re the one who’s Payne’s.”
No hesitation on that. No hesitation on his reply either: “Yeah. I am.”
The low rumble that came out of a cruel mouth was part laugh, part curse. “And you think that we’re related how?”
V cleared his throat and jumped in. “There is a striking physical resemblance between Manny’s dad and Butch. I mean . . . shit, it’s like looking at a picture of my boy.”
Dark brows disappeared behind those wraparounds. Then the expression eased. “Needless to say, I can’t make that call.”
Ah, so he was blind. Explained the dog.
“We could ancestor-regress him,” Vishous suggested.
“Yeah,” Butch said. “Let’s do—”
“Wait
a minute, can’t that kill him?” Jane interjected.
“Hold up.” Manny pulled an out-and-safe with his hands. “Just wait a fucking minute. Ancestor what?”
Vishous exhaled smoke. “It’s a process by which I get into you and see how much of our blood is in your veins.”
“But it could kill me?” Shit, the fact that Jane was shaking her head so did not inspire confidence.
“It’s the only way to be sure. If you’re a half-breed, it’s not like we can go into the lab and look at your blood. Half-breeds are different.”
Manny glanced around at all of them: the king, Vishous, Jane . . . and the guy who might be a half brother. Christ, maybe this was why he felt so differently about Payne—from the second he saw her, it was like . . . a part of him woke up.
Maybe it explained his hot-blooded temper, too.
And after a lifetime of wondering about his father and his roots, he thought . . . he could find out the truth now.
Except as they stared back at him, he remembered heading into the hospital the week before and thinking it was morning only to find out it was night. And then the shit with Payne and his body changing came to mind.
“You know what?” he said. “I think I’m good.”
When Jane nodded as if she agreed with him, he was sure he was on the right train.
Besides, they were getting distracted from the real issue.
“Payne is going to come back, someway, somehow,” he said. “And I’m not sucking on a loaded gun right before I see her again—even if it means the difference between belonging in this world or not. I know who my father is—and I’m fucking looking at his reflection right now standing across from me. That’s as far as I need to go—unless Payne feels differently.”
God . . . his mother, he thought abruptly. Had she known?
As Vishous crossed his arms over his chest, Manny braced himself for an arguement.
“I like your white ass,” the guy said instead. “I really do.”
Considering what the bastard had walked in on not so long ago, this was a surprise. But he’d take it. “Okay, we agree. My woman wants it—I’ll do it. But otherwise, I’m good with who I am.”
“Fair enough,” Wrath pronounced.