THREE
“YOU’RE SURE YOU won’t reconsider?” I asked later, already knowing what Guthrie’s answer was likely to be. “I mean... spending a couple more weeks at a beachfront villa wouldn’t be the end of the world.”
Guthrie sat on the edge of the villa’s sprawling back porch, one leg hanging off the side. His elbow rested on his raised knee. Beyond, the surf played tag with the beach as the moon prepared to set over the ocean, creeping downward toward its own distorted reflection.
“Not the end of the world, no,” Guthrie agreed. “Just sort of pointless.”
I swallowed the little dart of hurt that jabbed me in the heart, only to decide an instant later that I was basically done with swallowing disappointment related to my jacked-up family.
“It wouldn’t be pointless to me,” I told him quietly, helping myself to a seat next to him. Rans stayed back, keeping his thoughts to himself and giving us space for a personal conversation.
Guthrie’s eyes flew to mine, and regret flashed behind them as he took in my expression. “That wasn’t what I meant, Zorah.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Christ, I’m bad at this.”
I forged ahead. “I only just found out you’re my grandfather, Guthrie. I want a chance to get to know you better, and I’m terrified that if you go back, you’ll be killed or... taken away,” I finished lamely.
Guthrie swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes darted down and to the side for a moment, before he steeled himself to meet mine again. Awkwardly, he reached across the space separating us and gathered my hand in one of his.
“See, that’s the thing, though.” His brow furrowed—a pained expression that silently urged me to understand what he was trying to say. “You two have some measure of protection out here. I don’t. And if Myrial wakes up one morning and decides to reach out and magically twist my head off, or implement some equally gruesome method of reaping my soul, I... really don’t want you around to see it.”
A dull ache tightened my throat, threatening to cut off the power of speech.
Rans rescued me from having to respond immediately. “To be honest, I think that’s rather unlikely at this point. As a vampire, you’re far too valuable to her.”
Guthrie tore his eyes away from mine to look at him. “That’s complete guesswork and you know it, Rans.” He turned back to the view of the cove. “Look, both of you. I get that you’re worried about me. Hell, I’m just as worried about you, as much as it pains me to admit it. But here’s the thing. This isn’t something I can run away from. It’s a direct result of choices I made sixty-odd years ago. And, well... eventually you have to stop hiding, and face up to the consequences of your actions.”
Tears burned at the backs of my eyes. If they fell, I wondered if they would be rusty with old blood.
Probably so.
“You were trying to save the woman you loved,” I protested, and—yup. My voice came out sounding all weird and choked.
Guthrie’s fingers squeezed mine, his thumb worrying the backs of my knuckles. “Zorah, I made an actual deal with the devil. There are only so many ways you can spin that.”
I shook my head vehemently, not entirely sure what part of his statement I was objecting to.
Rans sighed. “Like I told you before, mate, it’s ultimately your life to live. I don’t have to like it, and neither does Zorah. Just... tell me you’ve still got those phone numbers I gave you, and that you’ll consider using them if it becomes necessary.”
“I’ve got them,” Guthrie said. It was only half an answer, at best.
The numbers in question—for Nigellus and Albigard, respectively—might or might not be useful to him. Hell, they might end up making his situation even worse than it was now... or at least more complicated.
Silence settled over the porch, stifling in its weight. I floundered for some way to break it. Before I could come up with anything, Rans tensed. His eyes flared as his attention focused on the northern end of the beach, where the sand merged into a thick stand of tropical vegetation. I straightened in place and followed his gaze, aware a moment later of the brush of something unearthly against my consciousness.
A slender figure appeared, pale skin and hair seeming almost luminous in the light of the setting moon. The stranger waved cheerily at us, altering course toward the villa with the ungainly gait of someone not used to walking in deep sand. Before she got close enough to speak to us, a dark shape darted across the intervening distance and leapt nimbly onto the porch.
The huge black cat padded up to me and plopped down on its haunches, tail curling primly around its paws. A diamond-shaped patch of white fur on its chest shone in the moonlight, and slanted green eyes pinned me in its gaze as the creature gave a slow blink.
I gaped at it. Meanwhile, the woman closed the final distance to the villa and stopped at the steps to the porch, panting with exertion.
“Goodness me,” she exclaimed. “That was quite a trek!” Her pale eyes regarded us with interest, moving from Rans, to Guthrie, to me. “Oh, I say—three of you? How extraordinary! I have to admit, my dears, I didn’t see that one coming.”
“Erm...” I said, recognizing her as the crazy journalist lady who’d showed up at Nigellus’ house in California while we were staying there.
She rolled right over me, though. “Now, my pretties—I don’t suppose any of you have seen Mr. Benecea recently? He’s still not returning my calls, the silly man.”
Rans was still standing near the door leading inside the villa, tense and watchful. Guthrie shot both of us the
