In the Dark (43 page)

“Alec,”
he replied, politely, but wondering why Ian’s brother had come
here. Searching out the pack himself? Or searching for Sebastian?

Alec closed the
short distance between them, his face dark and serious. “I’m
begging you, Cain,” he said, voice low. “If you have any
care for Ian’s fate, let me take her. We can leave, you’ll
never see us again, Specter will follow us and leave you in peace –”

Sebastian stared
at him. Alec stopped speaking and stood, fists balled, waiting for
Sebastian to make more of an answer.

“Would you
be willing to take Ian’s new child with you?” Sebastian
asked.

Alec’s jaw
tightened, but he nodded.

The uncertainty
of that response didn’t sit well with Sebastian. Should Alec
take Ian and her new child away with him, Sebastian had no doubt Alec
would handle poorly the dual responsibility of protecting them and
allowing Ian her own say in how she taught her child.

As for Specter
following Alec and Ian and leaving Sebastian in peace, he almost
laughed aloud. Specter wanted Ian, that much was obvious, but the
pack leader did not deal lightly with those he named traitor. He
would halt his hunt for Ian long enough to lay the matter of his
wayward lieutenant to rest. And when Specter resumed his search,
Sebastian did not trust in Alec’s ability to protect not only
himself, but two wards. Kent had been Alec’s teacher, and Kent
had failed to keep even himself safe.

“No,”
Sebastian said simply.

Alec stared.
“No?”

Sebastian
considered explaining himself – then merely shrugged. He had
seen both Alec’s temper and his mistrust, and did not feel like
dealing with either. His fruitless search followed by the jarring
vision had left him short tempered and uncertain of himself, and all
too willing to draw his sword simply for the familiarity of it. “That
is my answer. Good evening, Alec.”

He started to
turn away, but Alec’s sudden shift in posture stopped him. It
was subtle, very subtle. A straightening of his spine, his right hand
twitching once as if it wanted to reach across himself to draw a
blade. Sebastian paused, turning back to face Alec, his own hand
moved to his sword’s hilt.

But Alec carried
no blade. He dropped the posture the moment Sebastian began to turn.
Sebastian watched him, took in his glare, his attempt to appear
outraged but not dangerous.

“I would
not, were I you,” Sebastian said quietly. Alec’s fists
tightened, but he made no other move. Sebastian held the other’s
eyes long enough to feel that his warning was understood, then turned
and left.

“This
isn’t the last of this, Cain,” Alec muttered behind him,
almost quiet enough that Sebastian didn’t hear. The sound of
footsteps told him Alec had left also, taking the opposite route.
Sebastian walked on without looking back.

Dawn neared. His
temper shortened by the moment. The memories and emotions thundering
inside him refused to let him focus. Remaining here would not help
any of those situations. Empty handed, Sebastian made his way back to
the Vector. Perhaps tomorrow would offer him a better opportunity.

I
woke up the next night hungry again. My stomach ached without
cramping, though, so that was an improvement. Still, the emptiness in
my belly reminded me of not only feeding Amanda, but also my crying
bout the night before.

And the other
thing.

I stretched in
bed and sighed. Gypsy perked up and butted her head against my hand.

I had tried to
kill someone last night.

Well, not
tried
to kill. It just sort of happened. Not that that helped.

I seriously
considered not getting up. Then it occurred to me that no one would
feed Amanda if I didn’t. And in order to feed Amanda, I needed
to eat. And if I didn’t eat, I might very well turn into some
crazed ravenous beast with absolutely no control over herself at all,
and that would be twenty times worse than feeding while in my right
mind and capable of caring if I killed anyone.

Getting up still
sounded like an awful lot of work. But the arguments against staying
in bed to mope all night stayed the same, and finally I got up. It
was every bit as draining as I had expected. I fed my cat. Changed my
clothes. Went out into the apartment to face the world.

Partway down the
hall, I heard the dull sound of metal crashing against metal, then
Josephine’s voice letting out a short, sharp battle cry. I
listened for a minute, then continued down the hall to the living
room. At least I knew where they were.

In the living
room, I thunked down in a chair to wait. I could only faintly hear
the sounds of fighting coming from the practice room. Mostly there
was just silence. I sat in the silence, alone, and bit my knuckle.

The lonely quiet
made it too easy to circle back to my problems. There were a lot of
them, but the most immediate also hurt the worst.

I had almost
killed a man. Out of nothing but plain hunger.

Killed someone.

And now Amanda
was losing her shit. I didn’t blame her. I was kind of losing
it myself. My momentum died again as I sat in the chair. I felt . . .
heavy. Like getting up from this spot would take more effort than it
was really worth. Like I might not ever move again.

I found myself
thinking of Gary, biting into him, shaking him – the memory
morphed into myself being bitten, Emily’s double sitting on me
and holding me down while she drained the life out of me. Smashing my
face against the pavement when I struggled. I started shaking, unable
to escape the picture in my head. It kept happening. I was there
again, underneath her, pinned down and dying. That was what I had
done to someone else.

After I didn’t
know how long, the memory finally cleared, leaving me shaky and
staring around the apartment, trying to verify that I was safe.

A small noise
caught my attention in the hall.

I looked up in
time to see Amanda turning away, heading back towards her room. I
thought about calling after her, then realized. She had seen me and
that was why she’d turned away. She didn’t want to be in
the same room with me.

If at all
possible, I sank even lower.

“Ian,”
a voice said.

I looked up as
Sebastian and Josephine came into the room. They both looked slightly
mussed from their workout, neither of them sweating or looking
seriously disheveled. I nodded at both of them, hoping I seemed
casual.

“You are
hungry?” Sebastian said.

I was. But going
out to try and feed sounded like so much work. And undeserved. I
liked feeding. There was a sexual, drug-like quality to the blood,
even when my donor wasn’t high. Too much so, obviously. Why
should I go and enjoy myself, take a chance on hurting another
person? How hard would it be to stop feeding before I hurt someone
tonight? I doubted Amanda would want to feed tonight anyway.

I shook my head.
“No,” I lied. “I think I’m okay for tonight.
Thanks.”

While Josephine
tilted her head at me, concerned, Sebastian simply nodded.

“Get up.
If you have no appetite, you will practice.”

“Practice?”
That sounded even worse than feeding.

“Yes,”
he said. And stood there. In front of my chair. Arms crossed. Staring
at me. He wasn’t going to go away. He wasn’t going to let
me wallow in self-pity. He wasn’t going to try to convince me
to please get up and go do something. He said I
would
practice
now. That meant I had to go practice.

I looked at him
staring at me for a long second, then sighed and heaved myself up out
of my chair. Sebastian held one arm out towards the practice room,
letting me go first. So he could herd me down the hall if I faltered,
I was sure. Head down, I went.

Inside the
practice room, Sebastian shut the door. I turned to face him, trying
to come up with a protest that would let me off the hook. Something
that would convince him I didn’t want to play fight right now.

In a flash he
came at me, grabbing my shoulder and rolling to kick me up and over
him. I flailed, which didn’t help one bit, then lost all the
breath I’d had in me in one hard gasp as I slammed onto the
mats. Sebastian popped to his feet.

“Get up,”
he told me.

I laid there,
gasping.

“Get up,”
Sebastian said again. When I still didn’t, he grabbed me by the
shoulders and hauled me to my feet. Before I could do more than get
my balance, he slammed into me again, this time throwing me
backwards. I hit the mats and my teeth clacked together.

“Get up,”
he said again.

Giving him a
dirty glare, I shoved myself up to my feet. He came at me again,
hard, and I used the block he’d tried to show me. He broke
right through it, slamming into my gut so hard I gasped again. I sat,
hard. My tailbone protested the abuse with a sharp pain.

“Get up.”

This time my
glare wasn’t dirty, it was filthy. Why the hell was he picking
on me like this? I shoved myself up and this time, I went for him as
I stood. He grabbed my arm and threw me easily, using my own weight
against me. I skidded to the floor and didn’t wait for him to
tell me to get up before I did, rushing at him again.

I hit the floor.
I got up. I threw myself at him. He tossed me aside like a rag. I
hauled myself up and launched myself at him.

Again. Again.
Again.

Every time I hit
the floor, anger surged through me a little harder. And hunger. The
two twined around each other, feeding each other, until I didn’t
know if I was angry because I was hungry or hungry because I was
angry. Still Sebastian pushed me. Blocking me, throwing me, ordering
me to get up when I hesitated.

A distant corner
of my mind heard a deep, angry snarl. A real, growling dog kind of
sound. It scared me a little. But Sebastian was there, gathering
himself to pounce on me, and I rushed him.

This time I
burst past his block, somehow finding the force to sweep his hands
aside. It wasn’t easy. I felt my bicep strain and pull. But I
did it. And when I did I lunged, mouth open, going for his throat. I
didn’t even realize I was going to do that until I did.

His hand caught
me under the jaw, stopping me cold. I tried to smack his hand away,
tried to make his elbow fold. I wanted blood, goddammit, and I wanted
his. It didn’t work. He held me still, inches from his face, my
fangs bared, struggling.

“Calm
down,” he said.

It didn’t
penetrate. I struggled against him, clawing his arm.

He gave me a
small shake. “Ian.”

My name sort of
got through. I blinked.

“Ian. Calm
down. Bring it back. You are in control.”

I knew what he
was saying. I knew what the words meant. A small part of me, a
rational part of me, woke up and realized what I was doing. I was
trying to go for Sebastian’s throat. And if I got my teeth into
him, I was going to murder him.

I still wanted
to. My hunger roared inside me, my anger at him for treating me so
mercilessly burned. But the small, rational voice in the back of my
head told me how awful I would feel if that actually happened. How he
was my friend and I shouldn’t be snarling at him like this.

“Ian. You
are in control,” he said again.

I turned my face
away from him, still angry, still hungry, but now also ashamed.
Ashamed and frightened.

He let go of my
jaw. I staggered a step or two, face still averted.

“You are
the master of your own rage,” he told me. “You are the
master of your own hunger. It does not rise with a mind of its own.
You control it.”

I turned back to
him, hands spread to either side and a filthy glare on my face. “I
control it?” I growled. “
I
control
that?
That’s not even me!”

He pushed his
face back into mine, his blue eyes snapping. “It is you,”
he said. “The hunger seems like it has its own will, it does
not feel like you, but I tell you now, Ian,
it is you and you
control it.
Or not. If you will not master the animal, if you
refuse to accept that it is a part of yourself, you will lose
yourself to it.”

I turned my face
away from his. “I already have,” I muttered.

He grabbed my
jaw in one heavy, strong hand and turned my face back to his. I tried
to resist. My effort was ridiculous. He was so much stronger. “Ian,
the man you attacked is still alive. You stopped yourself. Your
sister, whatever else has happened to her, is here. You have all of
eternity to make your peace with her.”

“Or all of
eternity to watch her hate me,” I said back.

“Ian,
listen to me. Your sister is terrified, she is confused, she is
angry. You can make it up to her. If it takes years or decades or
centuries, you can make it up to her. You have the time. Do not ever
take that for granted. You have the time.” He stopped suddenly.
Released my face to put his hand over his own. I thought he was just
frustrated with me, covering his eyes in a “I can’t
believe how dense you are” gesture.

Then I saw the
tears.

Seriously.
Tears.

He stepped back
and turned away from me. Hiding his face.

All my rage and
fear vanished like it had never been. “Sebastian?” I
asked quietly.

In a sudden
move, he spun and lunged at me. Before I could do more than flinch,
he had my shoulders in a grip that hurt, shaking me while red tears
streamed down his face. All I could do was stare.

“Don’t
call me that!” Just as suddenly, he dropped me, leaving me
staggering a little. He backed away from me, his blue eyes bright and
flashing, looking at something behind me that probably didn’t
exist outside his own head. He said something else, a murmur, in a
language I did not understand or even recognize.