DARK VENGEANCE, Part One

by Reinke, Sara

  He then tucked his fingertips beneath Brandon’s chin, lifting his head, forcing him to meet his gaze. “It’s alright,” he said with a soft smile—looking directly at Brandon, at his teeth, his eyes—at what he’d become, what the bloodlust had done to him.

  Bewildered, disbelieving, Brandon blinked at him, and Jackson’s smile widened. “I think we need to talk,” he said.

  CHAPTER NINE

  How long have you known? Brandon signed.

  They’d left the beach and gone to Duke’s Place. Jackson had texted his mother to let them know he and Brandon wouldn’t be home until later, and then the two of them had racked a game of eight-ball on one of pool tables in a back corner of the bar.

  About you? Jackson signed back. Years now.

  He watched appreciatively as Taya leaned across the pool table, the denim seat of her cut-off shorts stretching taut against the generous outward swells of her ass. Balancing on her tip toes, her fingers fanned against the green felt to bridge her cue, she shot the six ball into the far corner pocket with a practiced ease.

  About Valien and Pilar, the other Nahual? Jackson continued once she’d righted again. Not as long. It took me awhile to figure them out, until they trusted me enough to tell me.

  Pilar sat on a nearby stool, rolling her own cue stick between her hands. Valien’s bike shop was right across the street, and she kept cutting anxious glances toward the tavern door, as if expecting him to walk in at any moment. On the ride back from the beach, she’d been much kinder to Brandon, sympathetic even—and her driving skills seemed to have at least veered back toward the legal end of the spectrum.

  Are you alright? she’d asked him, sounding worried.

  Yeah, he’d replied as he’d held on to her waist, feeling the wind buffet his faceplate. Before leaving the beach, he’d been able to get himself somewhat under control; Jackson’s hand had stopped bleeding, so that temptation was no longer so immediate or apparent, and he’d splashed his face with water—the closest approximation to a cold shower he could come up with in a pinch.

  I had no idea Jackie didn’t know about you, she had told him, her tone sheepish and dismayed.

  That’s okay, he’d replied. I had no idea that he did.

  What do you mean, you knew about me years ago? Brandon asked Jackson, surprised and puzzled, as Taya prowled around the pool table, surveying her next shot. How?

  Your dad told me, Jackson said. I guess right around the time of the first bloodletting after he hired me. That’s what they call it, right?

  Brandon nodded, dumbfounded and feeling somewhat like he was in a daze or a dream. Because I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with Jackson of all people.

  Your dad didn’t want me to go outside, wind up getting hurt, Jackson signed. With a flap of his hand to indicate his head, he added, I guess he read my mind, figured out I could handle the truth without flipping out or anything. So he told me everything. Showed me, too.

  Brandon tried to let this sink in, to wrap his mind around the realization that Jackson had always known, almost from the beginning. Weren’t you scared? he asked at length.

  Jackson turned to him and smiled. Not of you. Reaching out, he tousled Brandon’s hair fondly. Never of you, Brandon. Or your dad. But I was always afraid for you. Afraid of that son of a bitch, Augustus…of what he might do to you some day. I always thought Sebastian could keep you safe, though, protect you.

  In his mind, his voice grew strained, and Brandon saw a gleam of tears in his eyes. I never would have left you there otherwise. I would have taken you with me, out of there somehow.

  Taya missed her next shot, the two grazing the edge of the pocket bumper, then bouncing away again. She muttered a “shit!” that was probably indistinguishable to anyone who couldn’t read lips, and then Pilar hopped down from the stool to take her turn.

  She was nervous about her brother finding her there, of Valien recognizing her bike outside and coming into the bar. After the conversation they’d had on the ride back from the beach, Brandon could appreciate why.

  My corillo knows about me and Elías, but they don’t approve, she’d told. Not mi madre, not Valien and sure as hell not Téo—no one in the corillo. Because Elías isn’t a feeder, but he knows about us anyway. They don’t trust him, don’t think he’s safe…that I’m safe with him. And if they find out about you, that you’re my pareja, they’ll try to make me leave him to be with you.

  He’d downed a couple of beers in the hour or so since their arrival. It had pooled comfortably in his belly, loosening his tongue and making him feel more relaxed—a godsend after the day he’d just been through. It made it easier for him to talk to Jackson about everything as they stood together, watching Pilar shoot, sinking the seven in the left side after a trick shot sent it bouncing off the opposing rail.

  Lina knows about me, too, he admitted and Jackson glanced at him in surprise. When I ran away from the farm, while I was hiding out at your place…she found me there. Caine and Emily attacked us. She saw them…their teeth and eyes. I had to tell her the truth. Brows lifted mournfully, he added, That’s what really happened to your apartment.

  He omitted the part that he’d made love to Lina for the first time that night as well; that the two of them had spent the better part of several hours tangled together both on Jackson’s couch and in his bed.

  He did, however, describe how his brother and sister had followed him to the city, then had tracked him to Jackson’s apartment. They’d been waiting for him there, but he’d fought back against them, fended them off. In the process, Jackson’s home had been badly damaged, damn near ruined.

  You ran Caine through with my katana? Visibly impressed, Jackson raised his brows and grinned. Holy shit, Brandon—you finally stood up to that son of a bitch? Good for you! Rustling Brandon’s hair again, he said, I always knew you had it in you.

  That’s not all, Brandon thought, keeping this to himself. God, not by a long shot.

  Because he’d gone on not only to stand up to Caine—his older brother who had, for most of his life, tormented and bullied Brandon—but to quite literally break every bone in his hands beating the shit out of him. And that had only been the start of things to come, he’d since discovered.

  There’s so much I want to tell you, he signed. So much that’s happened, so much you should know.

  Including the fact that I’m in love with your sister, he thought, again keeping his mind closed, the admittance to himself.

  “Hey.” Taya sidled past Jackson, pausing long enough to bump him with the side of her hip. “Your turn, handsome.”

  Later, Jackson signed to Brandon with a smile. We’ve got your whole visit to catch up. And right now… He dropped Brandon a wink. I’ve got to smoke your ass at pool.

  As Jackson approached the pool table, taking a cube of chalk in hand and grinding it against the tip of his cue, Brandon caught a glimpse of three men sitting on the other side of the tavern. They weren’t Nahual; he could tell that from his extrasensory perception—or rather, his lack thereof at their presence. By that same intuition, he could likewise sense that, as with Taya, Duke and Jackson, the trio knew what he and Pilar were—but were neither surprised nor alarmed by it.

  Who are those men? he asked Taya, who glanced over her shoulder at his telepathic inquiry.

  “They’re some friends of my dad’s,” she replied. “Randall Guzman and Jack Thomas. The guy with the beard is Freddie Albornos. They’re feeders.”

  What’s a feeder? Brandon asked. Pilar had used this unfamiliar term earlier in reference to her human boyfriend, and the fact that he wasn’t one.

  “They’re humans who know about the Nahual,” Taya replied. “We share our blood with them. I’m one, too. So are Dad and Jackie. Mostly that’s who comes in here—feeders or Nahual. Though every once in a blue moon, you’ll get a tourist or some clueless drunk…”

  Her voice faded as Brandon sucked in a startled breath, nearly pitching sideways off his stool. �
�Are you okay?” she exclaimed, leaning over to clap him on the back.

  You… Brandon sputtered helplessly, gawking between her and Jackson, still choked with surprise. You mean Jackson…he…?

  He hadn’t seen any marks on Jackson’s neck, none of the tell-tale scars or scabs to indicate the arteries in his neck and shoulder junction had been punctured as a feeding site.

  He’s let them feed from him? Brandon asked, bewildered and shocked.

  Taya looked equally puzzled. “All the time,” she said. “Didn’t he tell you?”

  No, he didn’t, Brandon thought, glancing across the room and meeting Jackson’s gaze. And all this time, I thought I was the one keeping secrets.

  “We’re all friends here, Brandon,” Taya told him affably. “There’s no such thing as a secret among friends.”

  Suddenly, with an excited grin, she called out, “It’s a salsa—come on!” As he watched, she leaned across the pool table and grabbed Jackson by the hand, hauling him away. She swayed her hips, stepping first toward him, then away, clearly trying to get him to dance with her.

  “Pilar, come on!” she called, flapping her hand in beckon.

  Brandon glanced behind him and saw Pilar standing beside the pool table, holding her cue in her hand. For a long moment, they looked at one another, then Pilar’s expression softened into a faint smile. Setting aside her stick, she walked toward Brandon, one hand outstretched in invitation.

  Dance with me? she asked.

  What? His eyes flew wide, but it was too late. She had his hand caught between hers and tugged at his arm.

  Pilar, he began in protest as she pulled him to his feet.

  Come on, just one dance, she said, clasping his free hand and facing him. With a mischievous smile, she added, I’m not going to bite you or anything. And besides…She began to rock her hips rhythmically back and forth. I love to salsa.

  I don’t know how to, Brandon said. He’d danced with his sister, Tessa, before. In their teen years, she’d studied ballet and had taught him to accompany her, help her practice leaps and lifts in the expansive studio Augustus had built for her at the great house. Other than these attempts, however, he’d only ever danced with one other person: Lina.

  I can’t hear the music, he told her helplessly.

  You don’t have to, Pilar answered. I can. Follow my lead.

  Keeping their hands joined, she stepped closer, collapsing the space between them to little more than millimeters. Immediately, he was aware of her scent, the intoxicating fragrance of her hair and skin, the light, lingering hint of her perfume.

  See? Pilar tipped her head back so she could look up at him. This isn’t so bad, is it?

  She was close enough to touch, close enough to lean down and kiss, to let his mouth brush with tantalizing ease against hers. In fact, he could have sworn it wasn’t his imagination; that Pilar’s eyes were filled with unspoken invitation, her lips poised in a slight, tempting smile.

  No, Brandon murmured, brushing her glossy dark hair back from her face with his hand, letting his fingers linger in a soft caress against her cheek. It’s not.

  As he leaned down, feeling the sudden soft intake of her breath against his mouth as her lips parts slightly, ready to meet his own—all he could think of were Augustus’s words:

  Why not?

  Pulling his hands away from hers, he abruptly stepped back, eyes flown wide. Pilar blinked at him, surprised and puzzled. “Brandon?” she said aloud.

  I can’t do this, he said, meaning more than just the dance—much, much more. I’m sorry, he said lamely. It’s just… His voice faded and he raked his fingers through his hair. I’m sorry. Really. I just…I’ll be right back.

  ****

  He ducked into the bathroom, then splashed water on his face, trying vainly to clear the hazy fog of tequila from his mind. It was more than just the alcohol, however, and he knew it.

  I need your help, he texted to Augustus, dragging his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. He went into a stall and closed the door behind him, leaning against the wall and struggling to get a hold of himself. Because right now I feel like I’m losing control, he thought desperately. Of my mind, my body—myself.

  What’s wrong? Augustus wrote back, so quickly Brandon knew he’d frightened him, alarmed him. In California, it would be after nine o’clock, and Augustus would probably be sitting out on his patio or in front of the fireplace with his customary bourbon. His phone would have either been in his pocket or on the table beside him, either way close at hand.

  It’s that girl again, Brandon pleaded, typing clumsily on the miniature keypad, and God, he wished that either Augustus was close enough to speak to telepathically, or that his goddamn ears and voice worked, so he could talk to him, hear him, over the phone. I don’t know what to do, he texted. I don’t know how to make it stop, the way I feel about her…think about her. Grandfather, please. Help me.

  After a long moment in which he stared stricken and impatient at the screen on his phone, Augustus wrote in reply.

  You can’t fight what’s in your nature, Brandon.

  But I don’t want this, Brandon wrote. I want Lina, Grandfather—I want to be with Lina. I know you don’t understand it, but I love her.

  So much, he thought, blinking against the sting of tears as he hit send. God, with all of my heart, I love her.

  She’s a human, Augustus wrote back. You’re a Brethren.

  But I love her, Brandon said again, helplessly.

  Listen to me, Augustus said. I’m not a man who admits these things readily, or who has ever harbored any kind of spiritual inclinations. But I have come to believe that we are often led to places in life—choices in life, Brandon—because we’re meant to, whether we realize it—want it—or not. More than anyone, you have helped me to realize this.

  Surprised, touched by this admittance, Brandon managed a smile.

  I’ve lost too much, too many that I love, by trying to dictate the paths of their lives, Augustus wrote. And I will do my best to support you, no matter where your choices in life may lead. But I have lost sleep to think of the heartache you’ll feel if you remain with Angelina. There is no amount of love in the world that can change what nature has fashioned. You’re Brethren. She’s human. And when she’s dead and gone, you’ll remain. Your heart will ultimately be the one to bear the burden of loss, Brandon—not hers.

  I’ve watched someone dear to me suffer that same cruel agony—Michel Morin, years ago, when we were both young yet and naïve. It broke him; the ghost of that pain haunts him even now, two hundred years later. And that, Brandon, is something I would give my life to spare you, to protect you from.

  Brandon cradled the phone in his hands, staring at the screen.

  If your heart was as steadfast in this as you say, you wouldn’t be having these doubts, Augustus wrote. You wouldn’t need me to tell you these things. You would feel it inside, what the right thing is to do. And it sounds to me as if you already do.

  Brandon closed his eyes for a long moment, feeling the world sway unsteadily, the liquor still affecting him. When he opened them again, he pressed the heel of his hand momentarily to his brow, waiting for the vertigo to pass. Then he turned again to the phone.

  Thank you, Grandfather, he wrote. Then, without a second-thought, he added, I miss you.

  As I miss you, Augustus replied. I will always be here. Whatever you choose. Whomever you choose. I am with you, Brandon.

  ****

  As Brandon walked out of the bathroom, he felt the tingling sensation that meant other Brethren were nearby. For once, it didn’t alarm him, however, and he was actually somewhat pleased and surprised to see Valien and some of his fellow Nahual had come from across the street to visit the tavern.

  That is, until he realized that Téo was among them, and that he was hassling Pilar again. He’d apparently cornered her, his hand on her elbow, and as Brandon watched, Pilar frowned, trying vainly to shrug herself loose of his grasp.

 
; “Get off me,” she growled.

  He drives me crazy, she’d told him of Téo. He’s been in love with me for ages. And now he’s pissed off that you’re around, because he knows he’s out of contention.

  For what? Brandon had asked, but now he understood. For her, he thought, his brows narrowing as he strode across the room. Something in him snapped at the frustration in her face, the intimidation he could see in her eyes, sense radiating off her in waves. Why no one else could sense it—why no one else had done a goddamn thing to help her—he didn’t know, but he moved purposefully toward Pilar, feeling protective of her, inexplicably possessive of her.

  “…come on, Pilar.” Brandon could read his lips as Téo spoke, his brows narrowed, his grip on her arm tightening. “Don’t be like that. Your boyfriend’s not around to—”

  He glanced up just as Brandon approached, and his voice cut short, his eyes flew wide as Brandon’s hand clamped beneath the shelf of his chin.

  Maybe not, Brandon seethed. But her pareja is.

  The bloodlust had come over Brandon without him even being consciously aware of it, his eyes rolling over to black, his teeth beginning to drop. With a soundless snarl, he threw Téo aside, forcing him away from Pilar, sending him first stumbling into, then crashing through a nearby table that splintered beneath his weight.

  At the clamor, all eyes in the bar suddenly swung in their direction. Brandon didn’t need to be able to hear to know a sudden, heavy, bewildered silence had fallen upon the room. His mind had been wide open, his thoughts plain and apparent for anyone who could sense them to hear, and from the looks of the shocked faces on Valien and the other Nahual at the bar, they’d heard plenty.

  From the broken ruins of the table, Téo pushed himself up, blood trickling from his nose, his lips wrinkled back in a grimace. “Pareja?” he gasped, blinking in stunned surprise between Brandon and Pilar. Managing a laugh, he spit blood from his mouth. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve got to be fucking shitting me.”