RoseBlood(82)
“I have the last of my patients to free,” Thorn said, pulling gloves out of his cloak’s pocket to cover his trembling hands. “They’re healed, and as you always taught me, shouldn’t be caged a minute longer than necessary. Already, they’ve been waiting a month due to our neglect. And since we’ll be busy the next few nights . . .”
If there was one thing in the world Erik revered above all else, it was the lives of lesser creatures. When he had Thorn use them in experiments, he ensured Thorn took the utmost care not to harm them, and watched them fervently as they healed. Even in his torture chambers, Erik chose to use wasps, scorpions, and hornets—insects that could sting repeatedly without hurting themselves. Never bees. He couldn’t stomach forcing an insect to commit suicide for his cause. He would only use bees as a diversion or an intimidation in wide-open spaces, where the insects were less likely to attack.
Thorn could argue it was fitting in some way, using nature to manipulate the Phantom, as he himself had manipulated so many victims over the years.
“I would have you free them for me, Father.” Thorn met Erik’s eyes, struggling to hide the dishonesty in his heart. “But you’re too weak to go to the surface.”
In the dimness, the answering tremor in Erik’s chin appeared more threatening than usual, shadowed as it was by the skeletal mask still covering his deformed face. He must have slept in his clothes, because he still had on the monk’s robe, too, as if he hadn’t bothered to change since last night. “It’s obvious that it’s your freedom you’re seeking. You want me to release you? First, you will explain why you’ve proven to be the crimp in my plans. You, who vowed loyalty to me years ago. You, who said you would dedicate your life to bringing me my most quintessential need and desire. I would never have opened my home to that vagabond child had I known he was only pretending so he could have her for himself.” Resting on his knee, Erik’s right fingers twitched beneath his robe’s sleeve. His breath broke in restrained gusts.
Thorn recoiled. The subtle flash and crackle of the electrical currents in the glass case mimicked the unease erupting along his nerves. He’d underestimated Erik’s vulnerability. Even half-asleep, the master assassin could still cast a Punjab lasso. Thorn lifted his hand to the level of his eyes, an attempt to protect his throat from the lethal wire and lead ball being slowly threaded out of Erik’s sleeve.
Ange flapped her wings and warbled low in her throat, sensing the mortal magnitude of the moment. She lighted atop the operating table and nested in place, situated between them.
“I was protecting our way of life, as I’m avowed to do.” Thorn looked past the swan’s glossy red plumage, disturbed by how closely she resembled a pool of blood on the stainless-steel surface. “I had to escort Rune’s friends away before they ended up with puncture marks on their wrists and ankles. For five years, the club has managed to stay under the radar . . . considered nothing more than rumors, only because the victims are consenting adults. The police will be forced by parents to investigate should under-aged teens start sporting the telltale physical symptoms discussed on the streets and at underground clubs.”
“I’ve nothing to fear of man’s law,” Erik scoffed. He wasn’t being boastful. He’d spent more than a hundred years evading repercussions for the countless murders he had committed. Most of them could be justified as vigilante justice, since the victims were murderers themselves—or worse. And here in Paris, he had the added benefit of contacts in every branch of law enforcement, psychic vampires who’d mastered blending into the common populace. It was their job to keep any traces of their kind under the radar, so they would never be exposed.
Early on, Erik convinced them any murder he committed was to preserve their obscurity—that his victims in some way threatened their lifestyle—and so his contacts covered his tracks. But ultimately, he had been using those stolen years of life to extend his own . . . so he might live long enough to experience what he’d been seeking since he was treated as an abomination by not only the world, but by his very own mother: unconditional love.
“You’re right,” Thorn answered at last, sympathy tugging at his resolve. “There’s no need to fear mankind. But our own kind? That’s a whole other level of culpability, isn’t it? Our subterranean alliances wouldn’t appreciate the complications such inquiries would present. It goes against our vows to keep our kind hidden. It would pose a threat to the anonymous mass feedings made possible by your club. The club they poured all their money into, so you could make their lives cushy and comfortable. You wouldn’t wish them to discover the other reason for your grand design. That you had to find a way to absorb extra energy for her.” Thorn shifted his gaze to the cryogenic chamber, fighting that tinge of bitterness again. Why would Erik put everything in danger for her . . . when he already had the unconditional love of a son? “Should our investors feel threatened, they will pull the plug, and she will suffer most of all.”
Erik tucked his hand into a pocket—putting away his Punjab lasso.
Thorn let out an indiscernible sigh of relief.
“Let us be clear.” Erik barely spoke above a hissing whisper. “She’s already suffering. How could you look at her all these years and think otherwise? And it’s not that you led Rune’s friends away. You led her away. Last night was set up to be her final downfall, so she’d be desperate to escape the torment of her conscience. It’s our one chance to trick her into compliance, since somehow she’s overcome her fear of the music itself.” He flashed an accusatory glare at Thorn who turned his gaze to his boots, dulling any emotional reaction so his aura wouldn’t give him away. “But we still have her uncontrolled appetites. That is our ace. Tell me you at least allowed her to feed. And be aware: Your answer determines more than the fate of your animals tonight, my son.”