Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 121854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Giulia had her arm around Marco as she looked up to her taller son with an expression of utmost love, while he clasped his rolled-up diploma, a huge grin on his face. His hair had been longer at the time, two dark curves that brushed his clean-shaven jaw.
It was a more formal pair to the candid graduation photo Giulia had on her sideboard. Had she chosen to display that one because it felt more real, more like her boy? How hard it must be for a mother to choose photos of her child from a lifetime of them.
“Giulia will like having that, even if she has her own copy,” Illium murmured.
“Because he kept it,” Aodhan said with a nod. “Long after he went from boy to man, he kept this photo of a moment of celebration with his mother.”
“We can put things like that in one box,” Illium said. “Good things for when she’s ready to remember the happy times with her son. She can ignore the rest of his belongings until she’s ready.”
Aodhan set the frame aside—but only after opening up the back to ensure Marco hadn’t tucked anything in there. There should’ve been no reason for the young vampire to hide items—it appeared he’d been up front about his stalker to his lover, family, and angel, but people also hid things as insurance or to spare a loved one from hurt.
The frame proved empty.
“I’ve gone through this small notebook.” Illium held up the simple book with its cardboard cover that featured a low-slung car, its lines reminiscent of a jungle cat’s. “Looks like he used it to remind himself of things on a daily basis.”
He flipped open a page to show a crossed-out list. “Marco went to the effort of splitting it into months, had future notes about various important events including when Tanika’s favorite band was going to be in town, and his mother’s birthday—he planned to order her a special cake.”
Illium traced Marco’s scrawled handwriting with a careful finger even as his body grew taut, his voice harsh with anger at a life stolen. “He was a good son, a good man. The kind of man who remembered to pick up groceries for his girlfriend even though he only needed a bottle of blood, and who made a note to remind her of her parents’ upcoming anniversary.”
Aodhan’s own fingers curled into his palm, his back rigid. “Someone took that man, and the woman he loved, away from everyone because he wouldn’t agree to be her toy.” Rage was a cauldron inside him. “I want to hurt them.”
Illium’s chest pounded at the open rage on Aodhan’s face. His best friend hadn’t allowed himself to feel rage for a long time. He’d been too badly wounded after he was first rescued, and later, he’d pushed it all down so deep that it had turned into a bone-scarring poison.
Illium knew the other man had spoken to Keir, had always hoped with every ounce of his being that the healer had lanced the poison in private, but he wasn’t so sure any longer. Because Aodhan was the more stubborn of the two of them—he was quieter and less inclined to temper, but he held things deeper and longer.
“So do I,” he said, not sure if it was the right thing to say, but wanting Aodhan to know that his anger wasn’t a response to be judged, that he had a right to rage, a right to be furious at the kind of narcissism that had led to the loss of two innocent lives. “Sometimes, rage is the only possible response. Rage fuels us.”
Aodhan’s eyes glittered with the heat of that rage as he picked up a pair of leather gloves from among Marco’s belongings. Illium had already bypassed them, but Aodhan frowned, stared. “These are too fine.” He flipped the top of one glove to reveal a furred interior. “The leather’s as soft as butter, and I think that’s real rabbit fur.”
He glanced around. “Look at the rest of Marco’s clothing.”
Now that Aodhan had pointed it out, Illium saw at once what he meant: while Marco’d had a polished wardrobe, all the items were in line with the kind of income he would’ve had as a young mortal only a few years into his working life. The same kind of income he’d probably had as a junior vampire with a good angel—above the baseline requirement, but not by much. It would’ve increased as he rose in seniority, but at the point where he’d died? No, he wouldn’t have had money to burn on fancy gloves.
“A gift from Tanika?” Illium suggested, then shook his head. “No, remember what her mother said—she was a lover of animals, didn’t eat flesh in any form.” The two of them had privately wondered how she’d made her peace with Marco’s need for blood, but it wasn’t a question they could ask those who’d loved her.