we're number two on the most wanted list? Is that meant to be reassuring? Cos, I could care less."
"Zac," Sam said sharply. It didn't take much for the asshole to come back to the surface, did it?
"Sam," he echoed, looking back over his shoulder. "I know that look and I don't like it."
Sam clamped his mouth shut, but Zac could tell he wanted to tell him off. When did the roles reverse? When did his little brother turn into his parent? Almost a hundred and fifty years ago, a small voice whispered to him.
"Aren't you pissed that she used you?" he asked. "Aren't you pissed she compelled your girlfriend?"
"Stop it, Zac."
"I have to get out of here," he said suddenly, grabbing a bottle of scotch from the back of the cabinet.
"Don't," Sam frowned.
"Don't worry, Samuel," he said, picking up on his brother's fear. "I'm coming back."
CHAPTER FIVE
Z ac stepped through the front door of the manor and began walking, the bottle of scotch clutched in his hand.
Perhaps he needed to go off on his own for a while. He'd done it before, but those times there had been wars to fight. World War I, World War II, Vietnam. It would be pathetic if he went off sulking because of a woman, even if she was the love of his unhinged immortality. Even as he thought it, he understood that he needed time to wallow before he could think about what to do next.
He'd been walking for a long time before he realized he was at the cemetery. When he'd come here in the past, it was at a run and when vampire's ran, it didn't take very long at all. At the pace of a regular human walk, it took a hell of a lot longer. Somewhere along the way, night had fallen and it made him feel more alone than ever.
Coming to a halt before a headstone that read Degaud across the base, he noted the irony of the situation. Death followed him wherever he went. The stone had been dulled by age, the elements and a healthy dose of neglect, the inscription covered in yellow lichen.
"Mother, Father," he inclined the bottle towards the headstone. "Glad I lived up to your expectations. Still the murderous, selfish bastard you always hoped I'd become."
Kneeling down, he began to scrape the natural interlopers from the surface, flinging the moss and lichen aside. The etching was simple, he never knew who had made it as he and Sam were meant to be as dead as they were. Their father was an only child, the first Degaud to be born in America after his parents immigrated from France. Their mother, her story was much the same. Both of their families had come to the new world to take advantage of rich new lands. Any family they had left was in France and unknown to them.
The inscription now free, he read what had been put there in proxy. Louis Henri Degaud 1817-1865 and below was Marie Degaud 1820-1865. That was all.
"There was no light," he scoffed, perching on the side of the headstone. "But, you'd know that, wouldn't you?"
In all the time he and Sam wandered, they had never come home. Not until the previous winter. This was the first time he'd seen his parents graves, even though it had been the site of various incidents a few months prior. They'd summoned the Hunter with Gabby's help. Aya. He'd almost died his true death here when they had confronted Katrin, one of the five founding witches. Katrin, the Betrayer. Despite the connections with Aya, it was the perfect place for him among the bones of the dead. After all, he was dead as well.
Groaning, he ran a hand through his messy hair. Tristan was right. That old, musty, Irish bastard was right. She was manipulative. "Seems she just wanted a recharge before moving on." He rolled his eyes and sighed, talking to himself as much as his dead parents. "And to think I loved her." Loved? More like love. Even he wasn't fooling himself. "A fool in life and death."
He cast the empty bottle aside and it shattered on a smaller headstone beside his parents. It was another Degaud plot and he
"Zac," Sam said sharply. It didn't take much for the asshole to come back to the surface, did it?
"Sam," he echoed, looking back over his shoulder. "I know that look and I don't like it."
Sam clamped his mouth shut, but Zac could tell he wanted to tell him off. When did the roles reverse? When did his little brother turn into his parent? Almost a hundred and fifty years ago, a small voice whispered to him.
"Aren't you pissed that she used you?" he asked. "Aren't you pissed she compelled your girlfriend?"
"Stop it, Zac."
"I have to get out of here," he said suddenly, grabbing a bottle of scotch from the back of the cabinet.
"Don't," Sam frowned.
"Don't worry, Samuel," he said, picking up on his brother's fear. "I'm coming back."
CHAPTER FIVE
Z ac stepped through the front door of the manor and began walking, the bottle of scotch clutched in his hand.
Perhaps he needed to go off on his own for a while. He'd done it before, but those times there had been wars to fight. World War I, World War II, Vietnam. It would be pathetic if he went off sulking because of a woman, even if she was the love of his unhinged immortality. Even as he thought it, he understood that he needed time to wallow before he could think about what to do next.
He'd been walking for a long time before he realized he was at the cemetery. When he'd come here in the past, it was at a run and when vampire's ran, it didn't take very long at all. At the pace of a regular human walk, it took a hell of a lot longer. Somewhere along the way, night had fallen and it made him feel more alone than ever.
Coming to a halt before a headstone that read Degaud across the base, he noted the irony of the situation. Death followed him wherever he went. The stone had been dulled by age, the elements and a healthy dose of neglect, the inscription covered in yellow lichen.
"Mother, Father," he inclined the bottle towards the headstone. "Glad I lived up to your expectations. Still the murderous, selfish bastard you always hoped I'd become."
Kneeling down, he began to scrape the natural interlopers from the surface, flinging the moss and lichen aside. The etching was simple, he never knew who had made it as he and Sam were meant to be as dead as they were. Their father was an only child, the first Degaud to be born in America after his parents immigrated from France. Their mother, her story was much the same. Both of their families had come to the new world to take advantage of rich new lands. Any family they had left was in France and unknown to them.
The inscription now free, he read what had been put there in proxy. Louis Henri Degaud 1817-1865 and below was Marie Degaud 1820-1865. That was all.
"There was no light," he scoffed, perching on the side of the headstone. "But, you'd know that, wouldn't you?"
In all the time he and Sam wandered, they had never come home. Not until the previous winter. This was the first time he'd seen his parents graves, even though it had been the site of various incidents a few months prior. They'd summoned the Hunter with Gabby's help. Aya. He'd almost died his true death here when they had confronted Katrin, one of the five founding witches. Katrin, the Betrayer. Despite the connections with Aya, it was the perfect place for him among the bones of the dead. After all, he was dead as well.
Groaning, he ran a hand through his messy hair. Tristan was right. That old, musty, Irish bastard was right. She was manipulative. "Seems she just wanted a recharge before moving on." He rolled his eyes and sighed, talking to himself as much as his dead parents. "And to think I loved her." Loved? More like love. Even he wasn't fooling himself. "A fool in life and death."
He cast the empty bottle aside and it shattered on a smaller headstone beside his parents. It was another Degaud plot and he
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